


Lost, Found and Somewhere Between

by pheistyfoenix



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 28,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5723782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pheistyfoenix/pseuds/pheistyfoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharon Carter becomes the unexpected protector of a lost and confused Winter Soldier, including protecting him from his best friend Captain America. Can she help both soldiers find their way?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FFN under my old pseudonym Joycelyn Solo.

Much like the American hero whose exhibit he was currently immersed in at the Smithsonian’s Air & Space Museum, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes had himself recently awoken from a dark, cold slumber.   
  
Where Captain America had been frozen in the Arctic ice for the last 70 years, Bucky had been trapped in his own mind while he’d been warped, manipulated, and his body used as a weapon to carry out the bidding of shadowy agents.  
  
It had only been a week since Bucky’s "awakening;" when he’d been tasked with dispatching the director of the international espionage and law enforcement organization SHIELD. His target had proved a more difficult kill than most but he was eventually successful in the completion of his mission.   
  
But then…  
  
Bucky shook his head, the noise of his own mind so loud it was a wonder the tourists, students and other museum goers didn’t hear it as he stared at the man who’d been his undoing — or perhaps his savior.   
  
The larger-than-life poster of Captain America smiled down at Bucky, the expression a bit shy but genuine as though he was uncomfortable with all of the attention, even as a two-dimensional image. It was Captain America who’d jolted Bucky’s mind awake, a mind that had been trapped in and out of a dark fog for decades.  
  
He adjusted the bill of the ball cap he wore, drawing it low over his eyes even as the swing of his unkempt hair obscured the rest of his features. After he killed the SHIELD director, he encountered Captain America, who became his next target.   
  
During his second encounter, the Captain had recognized Bucky — and that was when everything changed. Suddenly, there was a light in the fog and Bucky struggled to see it, to follow it out of the hell he’d been trapped in for 70 years.  
  
His handlers tried to take away the light. To plunge him back into the darkness. But his final confrontation with Captain America changed everything. Bucky’s mission was to kill him but the man in red, white and blue refused to fight. Battered, bloody and desperate, Captain America had tried to save the trapped Bucky but Bucky used that weakness to complete his mission. Or nearly. As he’d watched his target fall, he knew that he could not let the man who claimed to be his friend die.  
  
Friend. Bucky wasn’t even sure he knew what that word meant as he regarded the display about Captain America and the only Howling Commando lost during the World War II. A man called Bucky.  
  
It was a pale echo of a memory but, seeing the video footage of Captain America and his best friend, Bucky nearly remembered those smiling faces and easy camaraderie. As he did, a new word surfaced in his scarred mind.   
  
Brother.  
  
As the crowd thinned with the pending close of the museum, Bucky scanned the rest of the displays, hoping to find something else familiar; hoping for another guiding light in the fog. He nearly gave up when he heard a woman’s voice behind him, speaking from an abandoned monitor. He watched the video play out, and then again in its entirety.   
  
He read the placard below the monitor, processing information and filing it away.   
  
Agent Peggy Carter, co-founder of SHIELD. Retired and living in Arlington.   
  


* * *

  
  
Bucky scaled the garden walls that surrounded the Arlington estate and easily avoided the motion sensors that served as the only security he saw. He wondered how the founder of the world’s largest spy organization didn’t have more concern for her own personal safety but he dismissed the thought as he quickly reached his goal and entered the main house.   
  
He moved quietly down the halls, assessing the sleeping occupants as he searched for the woman in the video. Not finding her on the main floor, he made his way up to the second floor and found her asleep in the first room he checked.   
  
She was old. He didn’t know what he’d expected but she certainly bared little resemblance to the woman in the video. One of her wrinkled hands was fisted on the blanket over her chest while another was at her side, an IV inserted into her frail arm and a monitor attached to her finger.   
  
As he watched her sleep, he felt an unfamiliar weight in his chest, a long-forgotten emotion. It may have been pity for the woman or sadness for himself but he doubted she would be able to provide the information he needed.   
  
He turned to go, making no more noise than he had since setting foot on the estate.  
  
"I know you’re there," a voice whispered behind him and he spun back to see the woman staring at him. "If you’re going to go through all of the trouble to break into my home, you may as well do whatever you've come to do."  
  
Bucky looked at her again and saw that the hand that had been resting on her chest now held a small pistol and was steadily aiming it at his head.  
  
"But whatever you’ve come for," she said, her voice stronger than it had been a moment before. "I won’t make it easy for you."  
  


* * *

  
  
Though she didn’t recognize the shadowy intruder in her bedroom, Peggy Carter had not been surprised by his appearance.   
  
You didn’t found an international spy agency and go unnoticed in its fall. She assumed it was only a matter of time before a suit showed up at her front door or someone else snuck in the back.   
  
She considered herself prepared in either contingency.   
  
Peggy had watched her unexpected visitor as he’d skulked about the estate, likely feeling confident that he’d escape detection. Too bad for him he’d only managed to avoid the sensors and cameras her local home security company had installed. She’d been alerted as soon as he’d touched the stone wall at the edge of the grounds thanks to the Stark security system Howard’s own son had installed.  
  
Her hand steady on the gun she held, Peggy used the remote at her side to turn the lights on and get a look at her uninvited guest.  
  
The man flinched when the room burst with light, squeezing his eyes shut before he fixed them on her again.   
  
His hair was stringy and evidently hadn't been washed in some time, his beard was patchy with several days’ growth and his clothes were ill-fitting but Peggy couldn’t help her intake of breath at her first good look at the man standing at the foot of her bed.  
  
She knew it couldn’t be who she thought; her mind must be playing tricks on her. The man before her had been dead for seventy years.   
  
But, then again, so had Steve.  
  
"Bucky?" she asked, the gun lowering a fraction.  
  
He took his opportunity, rushing the bed and pulling the pistol from her grip. She leaned away, prepared to grab another weapon or activate the panic button near her bed but he simply emptied the pistol, the bullets falling harmless to the floor.   
  
She studied him, still not sure if she could trust her own memory. "Bucky?" she asked again. "Is it really you?"  
  
His mouth quivered as he, too, studied her.   
  
"I don’t know."


	2. Chapter 2

Sharon Carter stifled a yawn as she let herself in the front door of her aunt’s estate. 

Despite being in excellent physical condition, she’d spent another day being put through the ringer by her CIA recruiter, as had her fellow trainees, and longed for a hot shower, a handful of ibuprofen and a couple hours of sleep until she had to get up and do it all again tomorrow. 

In the wake of SHIELD’s collapse and the realization that so much of the U.S.’s intelligence network had been built on the lies HYDRA fed them, the Central Intelligence Agency was shoring its numbers to compensate. While Sharon was fully qualified — more than, really — for the analyst position she’d applied for, her former position with SHIELD and her family ties to the organization meant she had to work that much harder for a job that was well beneath her expertise. 

She had to start somewhere, she mused, dropping her purse onto the bench near the door and switching on the entry light. If she had to take some lumps from the government-employed masochist with a creative imagination, she would. Her Aunt Peggy had dealt with far worse in her time as a woman in a male-dominated field and Sharon wouldn’t be a Carter if she couldn’t do the same. 

She was really quite fortunate that the CIA had been willing to take her at all, considering that most of her colleagues had disappeared or been arrested since the revelation that Hydra had been operating from within SHIELD almost since its inception. 

Despite being in in the Triskelion when Captain America had revealed Hydra’s presence in their midsts, and witnessing with her own eyes as agents and friends turned against each other with , even she had a difficult time believing the agency she’d sworn her allegiance to had been corrupt.

She was almost grateful for the stage six Alzheimer’s disease that insulated her aunt from the blow of discovering the organization she’d helped build had been tainted by the very evil they’d been founded to fight.

Since moving in with her aunt, Sharon had done her best to protect her from the fallout, including taking charge of Peggy’s medical care when her SHIELD-appointed live-in nurse quit. Apparently, the woman’s payroll disappeared as quickly as Sharon’s lease when SHIELD’s assets were frozen.

Reviewing Peggy’s charts and medications, Sharon thought it was just as well that the nurse had quit before she fired her. Peggy’s physical therapy sessions had become non-existent, her nutritional needs were barely being met and she’d been sloppy with Peggy’s prescriptions, giving her homeopathic supplements Sharon saw no use for and definitely not prescribed by any of her aunt's doctors.

Sharon immediately started working with Peggy herself while she scheduled a physical therapist to come to the estate, adjusted her aunt’s meds and instructed the cook and housekeeper to care for her aunt when Sharon was out during the day.

Within a week, Peggy began sleeping through the night, which Sharon was grateful for. Though she never minded the middle-of-the-night phone calls, the insomnia did little to help her aunt’s condition. Now, she was not only more lucid but seemed stronger, steadier, than she had been in months. 

Sharon left her shoes at the bottom of the stairs, hoping not to wake anyone as she made her way up to her room. About halfway up, though, she paused at the sound of voices coming from her aunt’s room. She heard a laugh, recognized her aunt’s, and allowed herself a small smile because it was good to hear Peggy in high spirits. 

The smile quickly faded to puzzlement, however, at the unfamiliar second voice. It was definitely male but Sharon couldn't think of anyone who would visit her aunt at such a late hour, unless...

The only man she could think of was Captain America himself, Steve Rogers, who was known to visit "his best girl" regularly but no one had seen Captain Rogers since the collapse of the Triskelion. Though Sharon didn’t like to think so, it was entirely possible he’d been killed by the Winter Soldier carrying out his final assignment by the traitorous Alexander Pierce.

She made her way up the rest of the steps, unsure how she felt about seeing the Captain since his cold reaction after finding out she wasn’t his innocent, non-agent neighbor Kate from across the hall. If he brought it up, she’d just have to explain to him that she had been doing her job, that —

"Who are you?"

Sharon jumped, surprised by the strange man who stepped out of her aunt’s bedroom.

"Who are you?" she asked, not liking the looks of the man standing between her and her aunt. "Aunt Peggy," she called out, trying to get around him, "Are you okay?"

Before Sharon made it more than a couple of feet, the stranger pushed her toward the wall and held her by the arm with an impossibly tight grip. 

He cocked his head, studying her. "You were in his apartment," he hissed and his grip tightened.

"Who…" Sharon asked, and broke off as his hand dug into the knife wound on her forearm.

"Bucky!" she heard her aunt’s voice and his grip on Sharon’s arm loosened as he stepped back into the room, dragging her with him. 

Sharon felt relief at the sight of a worked up but otherwise unharmed Peggy.

"Bucky," Peggy gained the man’s attention. "This is my niece. Sharon. She lives with me. Be a gentleman and let her go." 

The man looked from Sharon to the elder Carter and back again, before finally releasing her.

Sharon held her arm, hoping her stitches had held despite the bruising "Bucky" had likely caused.

"Are you alright, Sharon?" Aunt Peggy asked. At her nod, Peggy turned to Bucky. "You should apologize to Sharon, Bucky."

"She she was there." Bucky said instead, eyeing Sharon through the mess of his hair and then looking back at Peggy. "She was in his apartment."

"Sharon was in Steve’s apartment?" Peggy asked. "You must be mistaken, Bucky."

Bucky stared hard at Sharon again. "No mistake."

"Do you mean Steve Rogers’ apartment?" Sharon asked, her eyes narrowing. "How do you know that? Aunt Peggy, who is this man?"

"This is James Buchanan Barnes, one of the best sharp-shooters I ever knew."

"That’s impossible, Aunt Peggy," she said gently. "Bucky Barnes died seventy years ago. You know that. You’ve told me the stories yourself."

"We were all wrong," Peggy said sadly. "And I’m more sorry than I can say for that, Bucky."

Peggy was quiet a moment and Sharon worried about the affect the Bucky impostor’s intrusion was having on her aunt’s health.

"Aunt Peggy, you should rest. I’ll make sure Mr. Barnes here is taken care of."

"Oh, Sharon. I know you’re going to try and throw him out as soon as I fall asleep but it won’t do you any good," Peggy smiled weakly. "He was always stubborn, almost as much as Steve."

"You need to rest," Sharon repeated, rubbing her aunt’s shoulder. 

"Not just yet," Peggy countered. "You need to hear another story about Bucky, a long one, and it's going to make the favor I’m going to ask you for very difficult to do."


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky’s story was indeed a long one, seventy years in the making.  
  
As she listened, Sharon allowed herself to become slowly convinced that the man who’d intruded on her home and grabbed her was none other than James Buchanan Barnes, Steve Rogers’ best friend since childhood and, apparently, the assassin who killed Nick Fury.  
  
And not just Director Fury, Sharon thought. He’d also killed who knew how many others and tried to kill Captain Rogers,.  
  
"It’s not Bucky’s fault, Sharon," Peggy said, guessing her niece’s thoughts. "He was turned into a weapon by Armin Zola and was controlled by men like Alexander Pierce. He wasn't their first attempt at a super soldier but he’s the only one I know whose mind didn’t break under the strain of their methods." She looked, addressing Bucky. "But it’s been close, hasn’t it? You don’t know what’s real and what’s not. I know a little about that myself."  
  
Peggy sighed, refusing to feel sorry for herself when Bucky needed taking care of. "I don’t know if Bucky can handle much more. Seeing Steve, remembering who he is, he’s very fragile right now."  
  
Sharon wasn’t sure how "fragile" she considered Bucky as her forearm still throbbed where he’d grabbed her with the bionic grip Hydra had outfitted him with.  
  
When Bucky had revealed his mechanical appendage, Aunt Peggy’s eyes had welled with tears. "Oh, Bucky. What have they done to you?"  
  
But she knew. She’d seen the reports herself of subjects Hydra had experimented on, of the men and women they’d tried to "upgrade" and control, much as they had with Bucky.  
  
Whether it was a gift or a curse, however, Bucky was the only success they’d had. The subjects of those failed experiments had been beyond saving by the time SHIELD agents recovered them — and Peggy was still haunted by the messes they’d had to clean up.  
  
Sharon laid a hand on her aunt’s at Peggy’s prolonged silence. The night had been taxing for all of them and Sharon was still amazed that her aunt had managed as long as she had without falling asleep or, worse, forgetting who she was.  
  
Peggy closed her eyes, willing tears away, and opened them again to see Sharon studying her. Her precious niece, she thought. Peggy was much closer to her nephew’s daughter than she’d ever been to her own son and daughter. Life as a SHIELD agent and director of an international spy organization didn’t lend well to the demands of motherhood.  
  
Her children had grown up, moved away, raised children of their own…and neither of them wanted anything to do with the mother who’d been absent for so much of their childhoods. Peggy supposed she was fortunate that Sharon was born just after she’d retired, giving her a second chance to embrace her maternal side. Her nephew and his wife had been more than happy to have Peggy step in as surrogate grandmother in the absence of their own deceased parents.  
  
Peggy held Sharon more dear than even her own daughter, loved her as if she were, and she already regretted the favor she was going to ask of her  
  
"Bucky needs time," Peggy said finally. "Time to remember who he is and time to figure out how to atone for what he’s done. Once he’s himself again, I know he won’t find peace until he does."  
  
Peggy turned her hand over in Sharon’s, gripping her niece’s weakly.  
  
"Sharon, I need you to look after Bucky. To protect him. You’re the only one I can trust."  
  
Before Sharon could protest, Peggy turned to Bucky.  
  
She looked at Bucky. "You’ll go to my brother’s cabin, Sharon’s grandfather. It’s secluded, out of the way, and will give you the time you need to gain your strength."  
  
Defiance, uncertainty and hope all crossed Bucky’s features at Peggy’s orders.  
  
"I am trusting you with my niece, Bucky. I expect you to take care of each other. She’ll help you but you’ll need to help yourself as well." Peggy laid her other hand over Bucky’s, his flesh and blood hand. "I wish you could stay. Oh, how I wish it, but it’s too dangerous. With all of the Hydra implications, it’s only a matter of time before the inquiries lead here. I’ve been out of the game a long while but they’ll remember me soon enough and I won’t be able to protect you if they find you here."  
  
"What will you do if they come here?" Bucky asked, again managing an array of emotions all at once — concern, indifference and accusation.  
  
"I am an old woman, Bucky. What can they do to me?" She smiled a bit at that, thinking that she didn’t feel as old now as she had that very morning. "There are things Sharon will have to take care of before she leaves; things I’d prefer no one found here at the estate that you can take up to the cabin."  
  
Sharon nodded, though her head spun a bit. She’d gone from wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a couple hours' sleep to taking custody of a fugitive and harboring him at her grandfather’s cabin.  
  
She looked at Peggy, saw the sadness in her eyes as she looked at Bucky. Sharon recognized that sadness; had seen it in her eyes when her aunt talked about her visits with Captain Rogers. Sharon knew Peggy wished there was more she could do for the displaced soldier, just as Sharon knew that she herself would do whatever she could to help her aunt.  
  
She looked at the breaking light of day, her decision made and the necessary steps already forming in her head.  
  


* * *

  
Not quite enough hours of sleep later, Sharon directed a subdued Bucky Barnes as he loaded Peggy’s unmentionables — the things she didn’t want Hydra or anyone else to find — into the SUV her aunt insisted they take.  
  
Sharon looked over at her own compact hybrid. As much as she loved her little car, there was no way she’d fit Bucky, their supplies and Peggy’s secrets in it.  
  
Besides, the route to her grandfather’s cabin was more rut than road and the last thing they needed was to get stuck in a freak snowstorm the mountain area was known for.  
  
It pained Sharon to leave her aunt to fend for herself but taking Bucky to the cabin was the best option. It was certainly secluded, the surrounding population not even in the triple digits, and no one knew it existed. While it was her grandfather’s cabin, the deed had remained in her grandmother’s name. Someone would have to look hard to find a connection from Sharon’s grandmother to Aunt Peggy and they’d have to know to look in the first place.  
  
"Is this it?" Bucky asked, picking up Sharon’s own travel case and loading it in the back of the truck. Sharon thought she detected a hint of petulance from the man but she almost couldn’t blame him. Aunt Peggy had insisted that he needed a shower, a shave and a haircut before she let him go anywhere with her niece. He’d seemed grateful for the shower but terrified when Sharon picked up the scissors. Not knowing exactly what he’d gone through at the hands of Pierce and his followers but recognizing the naked panic in his eyes — Sharon had run to the closest pharmacy and picked up an electric shaver with attachments that Bucky then allowed her to use.  
  
Now, clean-shaven and dressed in a pair of khakis and a plaid shirt Sharon had found in the guest bedroom, Bucky looked as handsome as the photos Sharon had seen of him and Captain Rogers during the war.  
  
Sharon confirmed that he’d loaded the last of their provisions and suggested he go eat one of the sandwiches she’d put together. He’d already had three and the better part of a batch of soup she’d heated. She couldn’t tell if he was that hungry from not eating recently or if the things Hydra had done to him had increased his appetite as the super soldier serum had Captain Rogers. She’d heard stories from the Triskelion cafeteria and seen herself the number of grocery bags her neighbor had carried up to his apartment multiple times a week.  
  
If Bucky ate like this all of the time…well, it was a good thing Sharon liked to cook, something she’d learned from her mother.  
  
As Bucky headed toward the kitchen, she went up the stairs and to let her aunt know they were nearly ready to leave.  
  
"We’ll leave as soon as Mom and Dad arrive."  
  
"That’s really not necessary, Sharon," Peggy protested.  
  
"You want me to take care of Bucky, you have to let me take care of you." She took up her seat next to the bed again, took Peggy’s hand. "I won’t be able to help Bucky if I’m worried about you."  
  
Peggy smiled, recognizing a guilt trip when she saw one. "You got that trick from me and it’s very effective."  
  
"I learned from the best," Sharon agreed, then asked. "You’re sure you’ll be okay?"  
  
"I'll be fine, Sharon. Bucky needs you more than I do right now. He and Steve have both given and lost so much. I can only hope that they’ll be able to find each other after this."  
  
At the mention of Steve, Sharon stiffened slightly.  
  
"You didn’t ask me about what Bucky said. About me being in Captain Rogers’ apartment the night Nick Fury died." Sharon paused a beat, knew her aunt wouldn’t comment and continued, "I lived in the apartment across the hall. I was assigned to watch over him. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you."  
  
"There’s a reason I didn’t ask about your assignments, Sharon. I didn’t want you to have to choose between betraying your oath or lying to me."  
  
"And I appreciated that. But I know how you feel about Captain Rogers —"  
  
"How was he?" Peggy interrupted. "How did he seem?"  
  
Sharon was quiet as she thought about it, about Steve and the difficulty of maintaining her cover when all she wanted to do was wrap the lonely hero in the biggest hug she could manage.  
  
"I think he’s almost as lost as Bucky. Hopefully, with time, we can help them find each other."  



	4. Chapter 4

They arrived without incident at the cabin, Bucky silently staring out the window the entire drive. They'd passed through town, following the winding road several more miles before Sharon turned off onto an unmarked drive, which itself was at least two miles long, curving through the woods until they reached her grandparents' cabin.  
  
Under normal circumstances, Sharon would have been excited at the prospect of an extended stay in the two-story cedar-shank home. But these were far from normal circumstances and she wasn’t exactly sure what she was even supposed to do with herself or her charge.  
  
Look after Bucky, her aunt had said. Protect him. As far as Sharon could tell, the Winter Soldier could probably defend himself from any assailant — but he did need looking after.  
  
Though he was an adult — a ninety-plus-year-old-adult, she reminded herself — Bucky was more like a scared little boy testing his boundaries and experiencing the world for the first time than the calculating weapon she knew him to be. She’d never given much thought to what kind of mother she'd eventually be but taking care of Bucky seemed like a trial run.  
  
It had been some years since Sharon had been up to the cabin, though her parents made regular use of it since her grandparents’ passing. The outside had changed little since her childhood, when she'd spent weeks at a time with her parents or grandparents. There’d been renovations and improvements in that time to the kitchen and bathrooms, but her grandfather's study, the three bedrooms and her grandmother's gardens remained as ever.  
  
As they unloaded, Sharon gave Bucky what used to be her parents' bedroom at the end of the hall and stowed her things in her grandparents’ old room with its own bathroom, leaving the room she and her cousins had shared for storage of Aunt Peggy's crates of former SHIELD secrets.  
  
She left the still-silent Bucky to explore the cabin on his own while she evaluated their supplies. Her parents had spent their anniversary there only a month before so there was a decent supply of dried and canned goods to supplement the few groceries she'd brought from Virginia. She’d wanted to make a run to town for the perishable items they’d need and debated leaving Bucky on his own — but he seemed disappointed when she suggested it.  
  
The run to town for supplies was uneventful, save for the butcher recognizing Sharon and asking about her parents and Aunt Peggy. He assumed Bucky was her boyfriend and the Winter Soldier did not shy away when she took his gloved hand in her own to cement the assumption.  
  
Their act seemed to mollify the butcher and they returned to the cabin, where Sharon fixed sandwiches for lunch, set a stew on the stove for dinner and wondered just what she was supposed to do with her bionic fugitive.  
  
For his part, he seemed content to follow her around as she used the washer and dryer to freshen the bedding, gave the bathrooms a once over and took care of the dust in the den.  
  
By the time night fell, Sharon and Bucky sat in the freshly cleaned and cozy living room in front of a low fire sipping hot chocolate she’d impulsively made to ward off the chill of the storm system moving over the mountain.  
  


* * *

  
  
It was after midnight, with fat snowflakes falling unseen outside, when the screams had Sharon running from her room, gun in hand, as she barged through Bucky’s door.  
  
The Winter Soldier was still asleep and obviously embroiled in some sort of terrible nightmare. Sharon slid her gun back in its holster and set it on the dresser near the door before turning back to the thrashing Bucky, the blankets tangled at his waist and his chest bare.  
  
She approached, calling out his name, but he didn’t respond.  
  
Cautiously, she approached the bed only to have him grab her by the arm and yank her forward. He pinned her to the bed, his right hand around her throat, the mechanical one digging into the shoulder she was certain he’d dislocated. She struggled against his grip, called out his name, but she seemed unable to reach him.  
  
He screamed again, the anguish in his cries like nothing Sharon had ever heard before, and pity overcame the panic she felt. She ceased her struggles and tried to keep her tone even and soft, despite the hand at her throat, as she spoke to him in soothing tones, like trying to calm a frightened animal.  
  
Slowly, Bucky seemed to wake from the nightmare and recognize Sharon for the first time since she’d entered his room. He released her, scrambling away and cowering at the end of the bed.  
Sharon pushed herself up gingerly, her chest, back and shoulders burning with the pain from her definitely dislocated shoulder. Against all logic, as Bucky was the one to cause her injury, she moved toward him and laid a cautious hand on his shoulder.  
  
At the contact, he looked up at her and collapsed into her, lowering his head and sobbing into her embrace.  
  
Her heart breaking for him, for what he had endured and for his continued struggles, Sharon brought her good arm around him and held him until he fell into an exhausted slumber.  
  


* * *

  
  
Sharon woke to find a still sleeping Bucky curled into a loose ball beside her. His face was relaxed and his breathing even and she assumed he’d finally escaped whatever demons had assailed him for the night.  
  
Slowly, gingerly, she pushed herself up with her good arm, trying not to wake Bucky or jar her injured shoulder even further.  
  
She got to her feet and caught sight of herself in the long mirror over the dresser. Her shirt was torn at the neck, revealing the bruises at her throat. Her arm hung limp at her side, obviously dislocated.  
  
She crept from the room as quietly as she could manage, grabbing her gun and holster along the way, and waited until she got into her own room before she let out the painful breath she’d been holding.  
  
On the bright side, she could relocated her shoulder herself — she’d done it before — but it was going to hurt like hell. She gritted her teeth, using the doorjamb to the bathroom for leverage, and managed to stifle her cry of pain into a muffled growl as the searing pain began to ebb to a low simmer.  
  
After a very cold shower to help with the swelling, she carefully pulled a turtleneck over her head and stepped into a pair of slacks. She studied herself in the mirror again, hoping the tall neck of her sweater would hide the damage done in the night. She didn’t know what the realization that he’d hurt her — again — would do to Bucky’s fragile state of mind. Knowing his mind was even more delicate than she'd originally guessed, she wanted to shield him as much as she could even from his own misdeeds.  
  


* * *

  
  
While Sharon finished dressing upstairs, a shirtless Bucky arrived in the kitchen before her and wondered what he was supposed to do. He didn’t know how to cook; he barely knew how to do anything for himself, really. His handlers had fed him, clothed him, taken care of him. His focus had always been his target, only his target. Everything else was done for him.  
  
Including food.  
  
He looked at the refrigerator, the cupboards, and knew there had to be something edible in them. Before he could look through either, though, Sharon came in.  
  
She seemed different somehow but he could not identify it. She seemed cheerful, though, as she reached into the cupboard and started talking at him.  
  
"It’s cold and we’ve got snow out so I’m thinking oatmeal," she said, more for her benefit than his. As she’d learned yesterday, Bucky wasn’t much for idle chitchat but so far hadn’t minded her supplying the conversation. "Oatmeal is one of the first things my mom taught me to make and, frankly, it’s good comfort food and I think we could both use a little comfort."  
  
If he wondered what that meant, he didn’t let on, and continued to stare as she moved around the kitchen, getting a pot and water and more things from the cupboard.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked.  
  
"I’m making oatmeal," she said.  
  
"No," he said, frustrated that she didn’t understand. "What are you doing? There, with the water."  
  
"I need boiling water to cook the oats. Then I’m going to add butter and cinnamon."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because it will taste better that way."  
  
While the water boiled, she stepped over to him where he leaned against the counter.  
  
After a moment of staring at him, she asked, "Does your arm bother you?"  
  
He frowned. "It’s my arm," he said defensively yet with a hint of sadness.  
  
"No," she said gently, pointing a finger at her own arm. "Does it chafe — itch or burn right here?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Sit down," she said.  
  
"Why?"  
  
She smiled."I want to rub this —" she held up a small container she’d had in her pocket "— on your shoulder."  
  
"What is it?" he asked, even as he sat.  
  
"It’s eye cream. Very expensive eye cream, as a matter of fact, but it’s very soothing and should help the chafing on your arm." She took a small amount and rubbed it on the puckered skin. "I noticed the skin looked irritated and I didn’t think to add any lotions or ointments to the med kit I brought along. This will do until I can make another trip to town and get something."  
  
The cream smelled — good or bad, he wasn’t sure —but his arm felt immediate relief where she had rubbed it.  
  
When she was finished and put the cap back on the container, she asked, "How long has it been like that?"  
  
"I don't know," he said, unable to think of a time when it hadn't bothered him and he'd just gotten used to the discomfort.  
  
She returned to the stove top, stirred the oats into the boiling water, reduced the heat, covered the pot and turned back to him.  
  
"The next time it bothers you, let me know. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong."  
  


* * *

  
  
The rest of their second day at the cabin was quiet; almost too quiet, really. The very benefit of the cabin’s isolation meant there wasn’t much by way of distraction.  
  
They’d taken a walk, Sharon dressing Bucky in warm clothes though he insisted he didn’t need them, and explored the surrounding woods under a blanket of fresh snow.  
  
When they returned to the cabin and Sharon led them through the back door off the kitchen, she asked if Bucky wanted to cut more firewood — partly because she was in no condition to swing an axe and partly because he could use something to burn off the anxious energy that had been building since breakfast.  
  
She hoped that the physical labor would help and used that time to come up with more activities to keep him busy.  
  
After lunch, she looked through an old trunk in the den and found one of those impossibly tiny, thousand-piece puzzles her grandmother had enjoyed. Hoping to engage Bucky in the activity, Sharon scattered the pieces on the dining table and started the painful process of assembling the outer border, which she often found to be the only part she could do.  
  
After some hesitation, Bucky sat across from her and started pulling pieces toward his side of the table.  
  
They worked in amicable silence for a while when the section Sharon had been working on slid across the table away from her.  
  
She looked up and couldn't believe her eyes when Bucky added her tiny collection of completed pieces to the two castle turrets and moat he'd assembled — more than half of the puzzle done in the time it had taken her to do a fraction of it.  
  
He looked up at her, as though not sure if he was about to be praised or punished.  
  
"That's really good, Bucky." Sharon smiled encouragingly, tamping down the anger she felt at Pierce and Zola and anyone else responsible for the broken man before her. James Buchanan Barnes was a hero and he'd been twisted by cruel men to perform even crueler deeds — so much so that he couldn’t complete a jigsaw puzzle without fear of repercussions.  
  
No wonder the man had night terrors.  
  
She couldn't tell how Bucky felt about her praise but he focused on the pieces before him and continued assembling the puzzle to completion.  
  
She congratulated him on finishing the image and then drew back when her growled — actually growled — at her for trying to disassemble and put the puzzle away.  
  
"It's okay, Buck," she said and slid the completed castle scene to one edge of the table and set another box of pieces in front of him.  
  
He dove right in and she just sat and watched as he put together the enchanted forest scene.  
  
In the middle of piecing together the unicorn drinking from the waterfall, Bucky took Sharon by surprise when he thanked her for helping him sleep.  
  
"I didn’t think you knew I was in there," she said, wondering if he remembered hurting her.  
  
He shrugged.  
  
"Would you like me to hold you again tonight?" she asked.  
  
He only nodded and went back to his enchanted scene. By the time she convinced him it was time for bed, his six completed puzzles covered the dining table, half of the kitchen counter and coffee table in the den.


	5. Chapter 5

For a member of an elite pararescue squadron, Sam Wilson was more happy than he could say to be back on the ground.   
  
He hated flying commercial.   
  
He glanced over at his traveling companion, his features hidden by the weeks’ worth of facial hair he’d started cultivating in Russia.   
  
It was hard to read Steve’s features with the out-of-place beard but Sam assumed the too-quiet American hero was thinking about their recent failures to track down Bucky Barnes, otherwise known as the Winter Soldier.   
  
Sam wasn’t entirely sure how disappointed he was that they hadn’t caught up with Barnes. During their last encounter, the Winter Soldier had grounded Sam and left Steve for dead.   
  
But, according to Steve, Bucky had actually rescued him, pulling him from the river when he could have drowned.  
  
Sam reminded Steve that he wouldn’t have been in the river in danger of drowning if Bucky hadn’t been trying to kill him.  
  
"I saw you when the rolled you into the hospital. If that was his idea of a rescue…well, it was a terrible."  
  
Steve hadn’t argued but had just smiled that so often sad smile of his. Sam knew it was pointless to argue; that Steve was convinced that Bucky remembered him — or was starting to — and he just needed to find him and help him.  
  
Finding him had been the plan but none of the leads from Natasha Romanov aka the Black Widow aka out-of-Sam’s-league-but-that-didn’t-stop-him-from-hoping had panned out and, after a week of traipsing about the seedier sites of Europe, they were back stateside with nothing to show for their troubles and no where to go.  
  
"Have we figured out our next move yet?" Sam asked, shouldering his pack as soon as their plane had reached the gate.  
  
"Arlington," Steve said. "I have to see someone. We can figure out what to do from there."  
  


* * *

  
As their cab pulled up to the Carter estate, Steve warned Sam about Peggy’s condition.  
  
"She’s been sick since I came out of the ice," he was saying. "I try to stop by every couple of weeks but I don’t know how much of my visits she remembers."  
  
"Don’t worry, man. I get it." Sam regarded the estate and then looked back at Steve. "My grandma wasn’t herself for a while there either."  
  
The weary travelers shouldered their packs again and Steve rang the doorbell.  
  
A blond woman he didn’t recognize answered the door and he wondered where Emma, Peggy’s nurse, was.  
  
"Captain Rogers," the woman said, pleased. "It’s so nice to meet you. Peggy wondered if you’d stop by. She was quite pleased when she received your postcard."  
  
"I’m glad," Steve said, smiling. "And you are?"  
  
"Oh, heavens, I’m sorry. I’m Angela Carter. My husband is Peggy’s nephew."  
  
"What happened to Emma?"  
  
"Well," Angela explained as she led them through the house, "As you know, Emma worked for SHIELD and, since there’s no SHIELD, there’s no Emma."  
  
Steve paused at the stairs as they passed, wondering where Angela was leading them. "Peggy’s in her study, Captain Rogers. Since she started feeling better, we can’t seem to keep her out of there."  
  
"Feeling better?" Sam asked, shooting Steve a look. Women with Alzheimer’s didn’t just feel better.   
  
"Much better, as you’ll see." Angela stopped at a set of double doors and knocked softly.   
  
"What is it now?" Steve heard an unmistakable voice ask, obviously frustrated.   
  
Angela pushed one of the doors open. "You have visitors, Peggy. Handsome ones."  
  
Peggy’s niece-in-law stepped aside and Sam followed Steve into the room.   
  
"Steve!" Peggy said with enthusiasm. "You’re here. I thought you were traipsing around Europe with Nick Fury.”  
  
"What —? We weren't..." Steve, fumbled, uncomfortable with lying in general and unable to be dishonest with Peggy. They hadn't been with Nick Fury, that was true, but Steve didn't know if he could convince Peggy of that.  
  
"Don’t bother telling me otherwise, Steven," a very much vibrant and lucid Peggy Carter scolded, shaking a finger at him from behind the large mahogany desk that ruled her study. "You’ve always been a terrible liar."  
  
Coming to the aid of his friend, Sam offered, "Nick Fury is dead, ma'am."  
  
Peggy turned her attention on Sam. "And you must be Sam Wilson. I’m sorry about your wings; they were most impressive."  
  
"Thank you, ma’am," Sam said.  
  
"I always love how polite military types are," Peggy said, smiling, and gestured for Sam and Steve to take a seat in the chairs opposite her desk. “And clean-shaven. Did you lose your razor in Moscow, Steve?”  
  
Sam couldn’t help the snicker that escaped his lips even as Steve leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, in all seriousness.   
  
”Peggy,” he said, "What’s going on?"  
  
"Ah, you mean my miraculous recovery?" she lifted her hands with a flourish and a gave small laugh. "Would you believe Hydra thought I was important enough to poison?"   
  
"What?"  
  
"Poison. Apparently my devoted nurse had been giving me — oh, Angela knows what it’s called — for years to keep me just out of it enough not to be a threat to them. I’m actually flattered they thought so highly of me."   
  
Steve stared at her, hard. "You seem surprisingly okay with this."  
  
"Honestly," Peggy said, "I am so relieved to not actually be sick that I could kiss Alexander Pierce if the bastard wasn’t dead."  
  
"It probably wasn’t Pierce, Peggy." Steve said quietly. "It was Armin Zola."  
  
"Zola? Steve, he died in the Seventies."  
  
"Not as completely as he should have. Natasha and I found him. Sort of," he shook his head. "It’s complicated but we found out how Hydra infiltrated SHIELD. It was Zola, right from the beginning. A ‘beautiful parasite,’ he called it."  
  
"You’re saying Zola rebuilt Hydra right under our noses? That’s impossible. Howard or I would have noticed."  
  
"Peggy..." Steve shifted, unsure how to break the sadder news he'd learned. "Zola took credit for the accident that killed Howard and his wife. That’s how they stayed hidden. Whenever someone got too close, they were eliminated. That’s what happened to Nick Fury."  
  
Peggy stared at Steve, sadness in her eyes and her lips trembling. "Howard and Maria were murdered?"  
  
Steve nodded, his eyes sad as well.   
  
"I always thought Howard was much too good of a driver for their deaths to have been an accident." She let out a sad sigh, mourning her friends for a second time.   
  
"Howard must have been on to them, or they thought he was." Steve looked at Peggy with concern. "Maybe you did notice something, years ago, and the poison was their way of eliminating you as a threat.”  
  
"Why not just kill me, too?" she asked. "If I was such a threat, why let me live and yet kill Maria? She wasn't even an agent."  
  
"Because they need something from you," Sam said, speaking up.  
  
"What?" Steve asked, turning his attention to Sam.   
  
"Why else keep her alive — no offense, Agent Carter — if they didn’t need something from her. They couldn’t risk killing her outright but they couldn’t risk her knowing whatever it is she knows, either."  
  
They were all quiet, absorbing that information.   
  
"It makes sense," Peggy finally agreed. "In a sick, cruel and Hydra way, it makes sense."  
  
"The only question is, what do you know that’s too important to kill you and so risky they couldn’t let you keep the knowledge?"  
  
"I really wish I knew."  
  


* * *

  
Later, Steve and Peggy sat alone in her study while Sam took advantage of non-European plumbing and enjoyed a long, hot American shower.   
  
For the first time, Steve allowed himself to looking around the room, at the heart of Peggy's command center. Even when she retired from SHIELD, she had worked from here, sticking a hand in when the world needed her.   
  
He studied the collection of photos along the walls, tables and desk. Peggy with dignitaries he knew, most he didn't; pictures of her children and the grandchildren she barely knew; a surprising number of photos of Angela and a man Steve assumed to be her husband and Peggy's nephew; pictures of  —  
  
Steve snatched up a framed photo from Peggy's desk, staring hard at the woman in it. "I don't think it was your nurse who poisoned you, Peggy" Steve said, turning the photo and pointing at the smiling face so close to hers. "It was this woman. Kate or Sharon, I don't know. She's SHIELD Agent 13 but she's probably really Hydra."  
  
Peggy looked at the photo of a smiling Sharon, their arms wrapped around each other. “This is Angela's daughter, Steve. Sharon. And of course she's a SHIELD agent — she followed in my footsteps, much to her parents’ dismay.”  
  
Steve stared at Peggy, looked at the photo again. As he examined it more closely, he realized that the photo was actually many years old and Sharon bore a strong resemblance to the woman who'd greeted him and Sam at the door.   
  
“So she’s…she’s your great-niece?”   
  
“Definitely my favorite niece, yes,” Peggy said, smiling at her own joke. “Sharon is actually the one who discovered I was being overmedicated and insisted her mother and father move in to take care of me. They’re both doctors so I suppose it makes sense, though I miss her bedside manner.”  
  
“Did you know she’s been my neighbor for nearly a year?” Steve sighed. “I thought she was a nurse.”   
  
“I suppose that’s as good a cover as any for her.” Peggy set the photo back down, pride in her eyes. “Sharon was well on her way to becoming a doctor herself before my bad influence led her to SHIELD. She was in her third year of medical school when she left for the Academy. Angela’s nearly forgiven me but I don’t know if my nephew ever will.”  
  
“Where’s Sharon now? Why isn’t she here taking care of you?”  
  
Peggy pursed her lips. “Because she’s on an assignment. From me.”  
  
The way Peggy said that had Steve narrowing his eyes at her. “What assignment?”  
  
Peggy narrowed her own eyes at him. “Don’t think you can intimidate me, Steven. I’m still older than you.”  
  
“What assignment, Peggy?” Steve asked again.  
  
She softened. “Bucky is with her. He came here. To see me, to find out about you. I sent him away. Sharon’s looking after him while he remembers who he is."  
  
Steve stared at her. “You what? Peggy…he’s dangerous. If I find him I think I can reach out to him but you’re putting your niece in danger.”  
  
“Do you really think I would have sent them away together if I thought Sharon couldn’t handle herself?” Peggy laid on hand on the desk, leaning toward him. “I cared for Bucky, too, Steve and I mourned him with you. If there’s a chance we can bring him back from whatever they’ve done to him…”  
  
Steve knew Peggy meant well, meant to help him and to help Bucky, but he knew how dangerous the Winter Soldier was. Despite his assurances to Sam, Bucky had nearly killed him. Sharon may have been a SHEILD agent but she she was no match for Bucky.  
  
“Tell me where they are.”


	6. Chapter 6

By the fifth day in the cabin, Sharon could have really used some adult conversation.   
  
Not that she and Bucky weren’t getting along just fine — far from it. They were pretty much inseparable around the cabin, Bucky watching as she prepared their meals, helping her with repairs around the cabin, walking through the woods and documenting the wildlife around them, Sharon reading to him in the evenings and, of course, Sharon holding and soothing him to sleep every night.  
  
The only time she spent alone was in the earliest hours of the day when the nightmares stayed at bay even without her presence and she was able to slip away to her room to sleep, shower and dress.   
  
While Bucky was making progress, she still did most of the talking — usually to answer a question he’d asked. He wanted to know everything, which was when she’d started reading to him. He asked her about what she was cooking, how various things around the cabin worked, what the birds they’d seen on their walk were called, what creature left the tracks out by the wood pile…everything.  
  
She tried to answer as best she could but she really wished their internet connection was better or that she had more activities like the puzzles to occupy him.  
  
She wondered if it was worth a trip to town to see if she could find a children’s store. Not that Bucky was a child, she knew that, but his mind had the absorption rate of one and she was running out of knowledge to feed him.  
  
She was also running out of physical activities for him. He was stronger and faster than her and needed to be challenged. He'd taken to climbing trees on their walks or sprinting ahead only to return as soon as she lost sight of him or, as he was now, chopping firewood. He wanted to be active but he also couldn't bring himself to leave her side.   
  
The rhythmic sound of wood being split was almost soothing as she sat on the back porch and watched while he chopped more firewood than they needed. Despite the cold, he wore only the thermal shirt she'd insisted on — and even then he'd already tried removing it twice. Just because he had accelerated metabolism, he thought it was perfectly okay to chop wood shirtless in just-below-freezing temperatures while she sat bundled in a long sweater, heavy coat, thick socks, boots, gloves and hat.  
  
Bucky paused in mid-swing and looked off in the distance. He brought the axe down, embedding the blade into a log, before he caught Sharon's eye and and then ran for the treeline.  
  
As she watched him run off, Sharon heard a faint sound that, after a moment, she recognized as the sound of a car approaching the cabin.  
  
Her fingers itched for the gun she’d left holstered up in her room as she circled around to the front of the cabin but she tried to convince herself that Hydra wasn’t going to attack in broad daylight by car and it was probably just someone who’d followed the two-mile, winding drive by mistake even though you could barely see it from the road with the layers of snow they’d received since the first day she and Bucky had arrived.  
  
The approaching vehicle rounded the final bend in the drive and came into view.  
  
“That’s my car!” she said in surprise, recognizing her blue compact as it pulled onto the snow-cleared gravel next to Peggy’s SUV.  
  
Sharon’s shock at the arrival of her own car at the cabin was nothing compared to her reaction when she caught sight of the driver as he unfolded his tall frame from the entirely too small but reasonably fuel efficient vehicle.   
  
“Captain Rogers?” she called out, confused by the appearance of her former neighbor and Captain America himself. Of course, he wasn't dressed like Captain America at the moment, clad in jeans and a tee-shirt. _What was with the all super soldiers she knew running around underdressed for the weather?_ she thought, trying not to be distracted by the too-tight fit of the thin shirt across his genetically enhanced torso.   
  
She mentally shook herself, not sure if he noticed her staring, and asked, "What are you doing here?"  
  
"We're here for the same reason you are," he answered, looking over the roof of the car at the passenger Sharon hadn't noticed as he got out. She didn't recognize him but at least he had the sense to wear a down coat over the turtleneck he wore.   
  
"And what reason is that?" Sharon asked cagily. As much as she admired Captain Rogers, the last time she'd seen him he'd been on the live feed from the helicarrier in a death match with Bucky and Bucky was under her protection — wherever he was.   
  
"We know Barnes is here," the man she did not know said. "Your aunt told us."  
  
"My aunt's been very sick. How do you know she told you the truth?” Sharon countered, ”Or how do I know you didn't harass an old woman for information?"  
  
Captain Rogers gave her a look. “You know I would never do that. And Peggy’s not sick anymore. Her nurse had been poisoning her."  
  
The bravado Sharon had been trying to portray slipped. "What did you say?"  
  
"Peggy's nurse was Hydra. They've been poisoning her for years."  
  
"That's not possible. I saw Aunt Peggy's charts myself. She has Alzheimer's. The damage is irreversible."  
  
“We saw her with our own eyes,” the Captain’s companion said. “She was well enough to tell us where to find you and lend us your car.”  
  
Sharon’s attention was drawn to her own set of keys — complete with her keychain in likeness of Captain America’s shield — dangling from Captain Rogers’ hand. If he and his friend had coerced a sick Peggy into telling them where she and Bucky were — which she didn’t really believe — it was unlikely she’d have handed over Sharon’s keys when there was a nice Mercedes, complete with the keys in the ignition, they could have just taken. If her aunt had been lucid enough to give him her location and they keys to her car…  
  
“For the sake of not arguing in the cold any longer than we have to, let’s say I believe Aunt Peggy sent you up here,” Sharon said. “What do you want with Bucky?”  
  
“I want to help him.”  
  
“You were trying to kill him on the helicarrier.”  
  
The Captain grimaced so his friend answered, “Technically, Barnes was trying to do the killing and Steve here was trying to do the not-dying.”  
  
Sharon could see that point, knowing from Bucky himself that killing Captain Rogers had been his mission. But she still wasn’t going to just turn him over. “I don’t know where Bucky is. He ran off when you drove up.”  
  
“Where would he go?”  
  
Even though Sharon could probably guess, she wasn't going to tell them that. Not until she knew their intentions.   
  
\---  
  
From his perch in the trees, Bucky watched Sharon talk to the man who had brought his world crashing down.   
  
Steve Rogers.   
  
Captain America.   
  
His best friend, apparently.   
  
He’d known Bucky, even when Bucky didn’t know himself. Because of him, Bucky had felt his mind -- his world -- shatter with the pieces now scraping against each other as he struggled to figure out what was real and what wasn’t.   
  
Sharon was real, perhaps the most real thing he had. His life now seemed to revolve around her as she patiently cared for him. He’d been punished enough times by his handlers to know that his was not to question, only to obey. Sharon would never hurt him, not even when he had hurt her.   
  
He'd been aware of hurting her that first night in the cabin, unable to control himself when he'd attacked her in the grips of his nightmare. He knew her arm still pained her, saw the bruises she tried to hide, but she pretended it didn't happen, presumably to protect his feelings.  
  
Because Sharon protected him.   
  
He studied their unexpected visitors as they continued to question Sharon. She would not tell them where he was, wouldn't reveal his location unless he wanted her to.  
  
She protected him, just as he’d protect her.  
  
\---  
  
“Look,” Steve said, not knowing why Sharon Carter was being so difficult. “I just want to find Bucky and help him. Just tell us where he is.”  
  
“And I said I don’t know where he is,” she reminded him, shaking her head. “Maybe you should drive into town, find a place to stay, and I’ll call you if Bucky wants to talk to you.”  
  
“We’re not leaving,” Steve said.   
  
“Then you might be waiting a long time,” Sharon said, turning on her booted heel back toward the cabin. Steve made as if to follow her, his hand out to catch her, only to find himself knocked back several feet by the dark blur that suddenly came between them.  
  
A cleaner-cut but still dangerous looking Winter Soldier stared Steve down, a menacing barrier between him and Sharon.  
  
“Stay away from her,” Bucky growled low.  
  
“It’s me, Buck,” Steve said, his hands up in a sign of surrender. “You know me. I just want to help you.”  
  
Bucky continued to glare and practically snarled when Steve took a step toward him and, by his reckoning, Sharon.   
  
“Bucky,” Sharon said quietly, laying a hand on the Winter Soldier’s arm. “Captain Rogers wasn’t going to hurt me. He just wanted to find you.”  
  
“I’m here,” Bucky said, his voice still low and menacing.  
  
"I want to help you, Buck," Steve said again, staying put. "I know you know who I am. You saved me in the river. Let me help save you."  
  
Bucky hesitated, his eyes going from Steve to Sam and back.   
  
“Bucky,” Sharon said again. “Let's go inside and hear Captain Rogers out." She turned to Steve and Sam. "There's a fire and food inside where we can discuss this like reasonable people who don't like being out in the cold."  
  
"A warm fire and food?" Sam asked, speaking up from behind Steve. "I can get behind that."


	7. Chapter 7

For all that they had to talk about, no one at the kitchen table spoke save for the polite “can you pass”es and Steve’s whispered “amen” after he said grace over his bowl of chili.  
  
Sam had been slightly surprised by Steve’s quiet devotion the first time they ate together but he respected it. He didn’t say grace himself unless he was eating at his grandfather’s house but he he respected his grandad's devotion and beliefs.   
  
He supposed Steve, growing up in a similar time period, held the same devotion to those beliefs despite suddenly waking up in a time when such things weren’t so common.   
  
Though Sam didn’t pray over his meal, he was grateful for it. He’d been traveling with Steve a long time and it was nice to have a hot, home-cooked meal in a cozy kitchen with the snow gently falling outside.  
  
When Barnes was done with his bowl of chili, Sharon immediately filled his bowl with more.    
  
She turned to Sam, gesturing with the ladle. "Sergeant Wilson?"  
  
"It's Sam and yes, please," he said and she filled his bowl as well.   
  
"Captain Rogers?"  
  
Steve nodded and thanked Sharon when she replenished his chili but, Sam noted, he did not give her permission to call him by his first name.  
  
Sharon returned the pot to the stove and sat. Taking the opportunity while the men ate, she said, "Now that everyone's in a better mood, maybe we should discuss the very large elephants in the room."  
  
Steve, Sam and Bucky were all too busy eating to disagree.   
  
"First, Aunt Peggy. How do you know Hydra was poisoning her? I'd noticed her meds were off but I attributed that to simple negligence given that her nurse wasn't taking care of her nutritional and physical therapy needs either."  
  
Steve swallowed his chili before answering. "You're probably aware that I've been visiting Peggy every couple of weeks since I woke up. I've been around for the decline, as sad as it's been to watch. The woman we saw yesterday was the Peggy I knew, back in my time. Vibrant and in charge."  
  
"Agent Carter and your mom were the ones who'd figured out she'd been poisoned," Sam supplied. "She seemed practically thrilled by the idea."  
  
Sharon smiled at that. "Because it meant they still considered her a threat. Yes, she would like that. Retirement wasn't always easy for her; I think she didn't want to become obsolete."  
  
"Based on information Black Widow and I discovered, we think Peggy must have found out about Hydra's infiltration of SHIELD and that was when they started poisoning her, to eliminate the threat. They've killed others to keep their secret."  
  
"Yet only poisoned Aunt Peggy," Sharon said thoughtfully. "Why?"  
  
"Sam thinks because Peggy not only knows something that threatens them but also something they need."   
  
Sharon stood in alarm, pushing her chair back in her haste. "And you just left her there? Alone? The threat of Hydra's discovery is out of the bag — what if they decide now that they need whatever she has?"  
  
"Then they'll have to go through Iron Man," Sam said.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Peggy flew to New York City this morning and is staying in Stark Tower," Steve said.   
  
Sharon sat back down, wishing the cabin was just a little less remote so she could have known about all of this when it had happened. Tabling that feeling, she said, "I trust you. You wouldn't have left her unless you knew she was safe. But that doesn't mean I'm just going to hand Bucky over to you, either."  
  
Bucky looked at Sharon when she said his name, then turned his attention back to his food.   
  
"I came here to help Bucky," Steve said, setting his empty bowl aside.   
  
"And what sort of help did you have in mind? Taking him to Stark Tower? Because that's not going to work for either of us and we won't make it easy if you try."  
  
"I want to help Bucky," Steve repeated. "If staying here is better for him, fine, but you'll have a hard time stopping me if I begin to think he'd be better off somewhere else."   
  
Sam looked at Bucky while they discussed him and saw the scowl he continued to give Steve. He'd seen enough shell-shocked vets to know that, if Bucky was happy and comfortable in the cabin, that was where he should stay.  
  
He said so aloud and had Steve giving him a scowl of his own while Sharon's features remained carefully neutral.  
  
"Good, that's settled." Sharon said. "There is room for you and Sam here at the cabin or there are motels in town if you prefer. Either way, I want to avoid changing too many things for Bucky and disrupting his progress."  
  
"That seems reasonable," Steve said. "Sam, what do you think?"  
  
"I think staying here is the clear choice — and not just for the food." He shot Sharon a smile before returning his attention to Steve. "We had a hard enough time flying under the radar in Europe. I assume it'll be even harder to hide your famous self state-side, even with as remote as we are now."  
  
"That's settled then," Sharon said, gathering dishes and handing them to Bucky who had silently appeared at her side. Sam and Steve watched as the Winter Soldier carried the dishes to the sink and began washing them.  
  


* * *

  
  
Sharon put fresh sheets on one of the bunk-beds in the room she'd shared with her cousins growing up for Sam and put blankets on the couch in the den for Captain Rogers.  
  
"I really don't think you're going to be comfortable down here," she said, fluffing the pillow she'd brought down. "This couch is entirely too short for you."  
  
"I'll be fine," Steve insisted, standing in the doorway, leaning on the jamb. "I've slept in less pleasant conditions."  
  
Though she'd already had this conversation with him, she tried one last time. "There's a perfectly comfortable king upstairs." Sharon said, not for the first time. "I can sleep down here. I used to do it all of the time."  
  
"You don't have to do that. It's your cabin."  
  
"It's actually my family's cabin and it's not like any of the rooms really have assignments." She stood, pleased with the condition of the make-shift bed. "Though I don't mind keeping the private bathroom for myself with three men here now."  
  
A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips but he didn't comment.   
  
"Okay, then," she said. "Good night, Captain Rogers."  
  
Sharon moved to step past him but he took up too much space in the doorway. She stood there, looking up at him.  
  
"You used to call me 'Steve'."  
  
"I know. But you also thought I was someone else at the time and you obviously weren't pleased when you found out otherwise." The way he'd bit out "Neighbor" at her outside of Alexander Pierce's office the morning after Nick Fury died still stung but she tried not to let that show.  
  
"You can call me 'Steve' again. I think 'Captain Rogers' is going to make a strange situation even stranger."  
  
"Alright," she said, giving him a look. "Good night, Steve."  
  
He stepped out of her way and said quietly as she headed up the stairs, "Good night, Sharon."


	8. Chapter 8

Sharon managed almost two whole hours of sleep in her own bed after spending the night with Bucky before she woke to the smell of frying bacon.  
  
She pulled a sweater on over her pajamas and padded down the stairs to the kitchen where she found Captain America frying the last of the bacon he'd found in the refrigerator and beating something in a mixing bowl.   
  
A sleepy Sam sat at the counter, a mug of coffee in his hands, and a stoic Bucky sat quietly at the kitchen table with a Sudoku book in front of him.   
  
She caught Sam's eye and looked toward Bucky. "I picked it up at the airport," he said by way of explanation. "Bucky seems to get a lot more out of it than I could."  
  
"How long has everyone been up?" she asked, noting that Bucky was dressed but both Sam and Steve were in the sweats and tees they'd slept in.  
  
"Steve woke at the butt-crack of dawn, most likely, and Bucky and I have only been up about a half-hour," Sam answered. He gestured to the coffeemaker on the counter behind him. "The pot's fresh if you're interested."  
  
She was. Very. Though she'd learned to survive with little sleep in med school and then as a SHIELD agent, that didn't mean she had to do it without caffeine.   
  
"Good beans," Sam said after taking a sip.  
  
"My father's weakness," Sharon explained, pouring herself a cup. "He studied in Brazil for a semester and became a coffee snob. I'll drink just about anything — and did in school — but that doesn't mean I'll ignore the perfectly good bag he left in the cupboard the last time he and my mom were here."  
  
"Your dad's a doctor, too, right?" Sam asked, settling back into his chair while Steve busied himself at the stove.   
  
"Pediatrics," she confirmed with a nod as she took a seat at the table with Bucky. "He and my mom had high hopes I'd follow in their footsteps."  
  
"The glamorous life of a SHIELD agent was just too exciting to pass up, huh?"  
  
"Not all that glamorous but it was rewarding," she said. "And I always admired the work Aunt Peggy did, even the things no one knew she had a hand in."  
  
"And you don't think being a doctor would have been rewarding?" Steve asked from his place near the oven.  
  
"I'm sure it would have been but I just didn't have the calling," Sharon explained. "My classmates were all very passionate, very driven. Just like my parents. But I didn't have that. I could have continued, probably been a good doctor, or I could follow my heart and become a great SHIELD agent." She sighed. "Except there's no SHIELD anymore and I'm pretty sure the CIA isn't thrilled about my sudden leave of absence after less than two weeks."  
  
"Hydra really pulled the rug out from under you," Sam said.  
  
"Me and a lot of people and I've faired better than most. It's just good that Hydra's been stopped. For now, anyway." Sharon leaned in her chair, trying to get a look at what Steve was doing at the stove but she couldn't see past his massive shoulders. "What's he making anyway?"  
  
"Whatever it is, we'll have Martha Stewart to thank," Sam answered.  
  
Sharon knew that Steve had met his share of celebrities since coming out of the ice and asked, "You've met Martha Stewart?"  
  
"No," Steve answered, putting two casserole dishes in the oven. "Just watched a lot of television when I first woke up."  
  
"Food Network?"  
  
Steve seemed embarrassed. "I eat a lot, seemed like a good idea to learn how to cook. I didn't have anyone cooking for me and I couldn't live on C-Rations like I did during the war."  
  
"If it makes you feel any better about your superior metabolism, Bucky eats a lot, too, and I've been doing all of his cooking. It'll be nice to share that responsibility." Sharon said. "Which reminds me, we're going to need supplies and soon if we've got two super soldier appetites plus me and Sam. I was already working on a grocery list before you two showed up yesterday."  
  
"That's good," Steve said, "Because I used the last of the eggs, bacon, milk, cheese and whatever the leafy green was."  
  
"Probably the kale," Sharon said, standing up and looking in the fridge herself so she could update the list. She shut the door and gave each of them a stony stair. "Which one of you ate my peanut butter cups?"  
  
Bucky was the only one who didn't look away, still immersed in the logic puzzles as he was.   
  
Without admitting that he'd been the one to eat them in the middle of the night, Steve said, "We'll just add those to the list and be sure to buy in bulk."  
  


* * *

  
Since Steve took care of breakfast, Sharon and Bucky washed dishes and cleaned the kitchen while Sam volunteered to run into town. Sharon had wanted to go with him but she wasn't sure how comfortable Bucky felt on his own with his former mission — which she could tell pained Steve.  
  
There wasn't much she could do about it other than to assure him that Bucky just needed time. Or she hoped that was all he needed.   
  
That first day after Steve and Sam arrived, Bucky stuck to Sharon's side more closely than she could have thought possible. She didn't know if he did it for his sense of security or her own but she twice had to remind him that he couldn't follow her into the bathroom.   
  
It didn't take long, however, for Bucky to make a surprising connection with Sam.  
  
"So you’re Steve’s best friend," Sam said, catching Bucky during one of the few times Sharon demanded absolute personal space.  
  
Bucky shrugged, his eyes blank and sad at the same time. "That’s what I keep being told."  
  
"But you don’t remember any of it."  
  
Bucky shook his head. "Not really."  
  
"Probably because of all the electric shock therapy they gave you over the years," Sam said bluntly, taking the kid gloves off that Sharon and Steve insisted they all wear around Bucky.  
  
"Is that what they did to me?" Bucky asked quietly.  
  
"According to the file Black Widow was able to get for Steve." Sam paused. "They also liked to throw you in the freezer when they didn't need you and thawed you out when it was time to kill again."  
  
Bucky's lip quivered. The deaths he remembered. All of them. Thirty-three missions. Forty-seven kills. He saw them in his nightmares, the ones that haunted him when Sharon wasn't there to sooth them away.   
  
"It won’t be easy," Sam continued, " And I know Sharon and Steve won't agree, but I think you should read the file. See if it helps you remember what they did to you; see if that helps you remember who you were."  
  
"Why are you helping me?" Bucky asked hoarsely.   
  
"Occupational hazard, I guess. I happen to specialize in emotionally vulnerable veterans."  
  
The unlikely bond that formed between Bucky and Sam surprised Sharon and Steve, and pushed Steve a little further toward a depression he'd been fighting a while.   
  
Though the hero tried to hide it, Sharon saw through the facade. However, talking to her about it seemed like the last thing he wanted. Save for that first night in the den, he somehow managed to avoid being alone in a room with her and she was pretty sure it was deliberate.   
  
She supposed it was time she turned her attention to another wounded soldier, whether he wanted her help or not.


	9. Chapter 9

Sharon found Steve in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he looked at one of her grandmother's old cookbooks. For all she could tell from the age of it, it may have been one Steve's own mother had kept in her kitchen.  
  
He didn't acknowledge her presence, focusing his attention on the recipe he'd been reading.  
  
"You know this place isn't big enough for you to keep avoiding me," she said, interrupting him.  
  
He looked over at her. "I'm not avoiding you."  
  
"Okay," she agreed. "Maybe not completely but you've avoided being alone with me since you got here. A girl tends to notice these things."   
  
"Bucky's usually with you and Sam's usually with me," he said defensively.  
  
"Mostly true, except that Bucky and Sam are now spending a lot of time with each other which leaves us at loose ends." She pulled herself up and sat on the counter opposite him. "You'd think that would mean the two of us would talk more, not less, so I have to wonder if the avoidance is deliberate."  
  
"You lied to me," Steve said evenly, turning around to face her.  
  
"I know," Sharon acknowledged. "And I’m sorry but we can’t continue like this, not if either of us wants to help Bucky." She studied him, saw the hurt in his eyes. "You’ve been lied to by a lot of people you’ve trusted and I’m sorry for that, too. Director Fury lied to you. Black Widow lied to you. Even Aunt Peggy lied to you. Somehow you managed to move past it with all of them so why can't you with me?"  
  
"Because I liked you."  
  
"What?" she asked, surprise clearly evident on her face.  
  
"I liked you," he repeated. "Or, I liked who I thought you were. Kate, the pretty nurse across the hall. I could hear you in your apartment. Singing while you did housework or talking to yourself while you cooked. Or sometimes I’d just hear you moving around in the middle of the night, when I couldn’t sleep. So many times I wanted to knock on your door, just to talk to someone, wondering if maybe you needed someone to talk to, too."  
  
"Why didn’t you?" she asked.  
  
"Fear."  
  
"Fear?" She gave a small laugh. "What does Captain America have to be afraid of?"  
  
"I wasn’t always Captain America." He smiled a bit, looked down and then back up at her. "In the old days, before the serum, Bucky worked his charm just to get a girl to go along on a  double-date with me in tow. After the serum, well, I only had eyes for Peggy and even then I seemed to always be tripping over my words instead of my feet. Since I was found in the ice, I’ve been trying to fit in or, I guess, figure out where I fit in. I hadn’t really thought about anyone like that. Except, every once in a while on a restless night, I’d wonder about the girl singing off-key Beatles tunes across the hall."  
  
"Oh, Captain," she said softly, caught between embarrassment and flattery. "If only you knew."  
  
"Knew what?"  
  
"How many times I wanted you to do just that." She smiled nervously. "How I wanted to say 'yes' when you asked me for coffee."  
  
"Why didn't you?" he asked, echoing her own question.  
  
"Because it would have been a lie. Like you said. You thought I was Kate, the nurse across the hall. There was no way I could go out with you, lie to you, with the way I felt about you."  
  
"How you felt about me?"  
  
"You’re my hero," she said, then laughed softly even as her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. "I know, Captain America is everybody’s hero but you’ve been mine since I was a little girl. Between the history lessons in school and the comic books about the Howling Commandoes and Aunt Peggy’s stories about you...well...I’ve pretty much had a crush on you since I was six."  
  
"Six?" he asked.  
  
She nodded. "I read everything I could about you when I wasn’t pestering Aunt Peggy to tell me a story. She had this trunk in her study, full of memorabilia from your war bond tour, newspaper clippings after your disappearance and some of the things she had boxed up from from your apartment. I can’t tell you how many hours I spent going through it, reading and fantasizing about you." She blushed with her confession. "I still have a poster from your tour. Cleveland. I’m sure Aunt Peggy noticed it was missing but she never said anything. I think she understood what it was like to be in love with Captain America."  
  
Steve stared at her, not sure what to say to that.   
  
So, instead, he didn’t say anything.  
  
He took a step, closing the distance between them. He searched her eyes, saw only a reflection of what he himself felt, and cupped her cheek as he slowly pressed his lips to hers.  
  
Sharon's thoughts seemed to stall and then speed up all at once. Her girlhood crush was holding her in his arms as he had in countless daydreams. Her smoking hot neighbor was acting out the late-night fantasies she’d entertained about him since he’d moved in across the hall. Her hero was stroking her cheek, making her entire body tingle.  
  
Steve Rogers, there and in the flesh, was kissing her.  
  
It could have been considered a chaste kiss, prudish or old fashioned as he never went further than using the pressure of his lips against hers but it was the most thoroughly Sharon had ever been kissed, his attention completely focused as he explored, caressed and tasted her.  
  
Slowly, reluctantly, Steve pulled away and smiled at the dazed expression on her face.  
  
"Wow…" she said, nearly falling forward off the counter when his hold on her loosened.  
  
He caught her easily, his hands coming to rest at her waist.  
  
"You all right?" he asked, that smile growing a little wider and, if she wasn’t mistaken, cocky.  
  
"I will be." She nodded and returned his smile with one of her own. "It’s not every day Captain America kisses you brainless."  
  
"Play your cards right and it could be."  
  
"Oh really?" she asked, his flirty response nearly as surprising as the sudden and unexpected kiss.  
  
He blushed, realizing what he'd said and how not-him it had sounded.   
  
Before he could explain what he'd meant, they both heard the voices that signaled the return of Sam and Bucky from their adventure outdoors.  
  
"I..." Sharon began, her brain still a little fuzzy. "I shouldn't be on the counter. I told Bucky he couldn't sit up here."  
  
Gently, Steve helped her down, his hands staying on her waist even after she was firmly planted on her own feet. Unable to help himself, he pressed a light kiss to her mouth, and finally withdrew his hands.  
  
"Wow," she said again. "I'm sorry. I feel like I should come up with something better but, well, I can't."  
  
"Wow's good," he said, smiling down at her and taking one of her hands in his.   
  
"So what does this mean?" she asked, looking at their joined hands and then back up at him.   
  
"I don't know," he admitted, "But I think we'll enjoy finding out. How do you feel about poker?"  
  
"What?" she asked, the question taking her by surprise.  
  
"You’ll have a good chance of playing your cards right." He smiled. "I’m terrible at poker."


	10. Chapter 10

As she changed into her pajamas, Sharon tried to stop thinking about Steve and their unexpected session in the kitchen but it just wasn’t happening.   
  
_It was just a kiss_ , she admonished. A particularly great kiss with a the man she’d spent most of her life crushing on but, still, just a kiss. It wasn’t like she’d never been kissed before. Not that she had promiscuous lips or anything but she’d had her share of lip-locks. Enough to know that the unexpected moment with Steve had been the greatest by far.  
  
At the thought, she sighed, and that was even worse than smiling because Steve would be able to hear that. He didn’t need to know she was obsessing over him like some lovestruck idiot whose brain he’d turned to goo.   
  
_This is ridiculous_ , she thought, carefully pulling a tee-shirt over her head.  
  
She was a grown woman. She had a job...well, probably not anymore since this impromptu vacation harboring a fugitive probably meant her few days with the CIA were over. But she used to be gainfully employed. And she had her own apartment. Okay, again, not at the moment since she had been staying with Aunt Peggy after her cover was blown and her lease was lost in the fall of SHIELD.   
  
But she was usually an adult. When she wasn’t mooning over a certain super soldier who’d somehow managed to cost her her apartment, her job and, apparently, any maturity she once had.   
  
Oh god, she thought as she tied the string on her pajama bottoms. I’ve regressed back to high school.  
  
And it was all Steve’s fault.  
  
Well, not the lack of job and apartment. That was Hydra’s fault. Steve was definitely to blame for the kissing and resulting mush of her brain. And he implied he wanted to do it again. Sharon wondered what would happen if she went down to the den right now, wished she could go find out just what he'd meant by "playing her cards right," but she couldn't. Not tonight. She had something else she needed to do.  
  


* * *

  
Steve’s brain may not have been as mushy as Sharon’s but he couldn’t concentrate on the book he’d picked up in the den without his thoughts straying toward her and their kiss.  
  
Hearing her humming in her room, followed by the occasional sigh, didn’t help him relax.    
  
He smiled at the ceiling, wondering if his former neighbor and assigned protector was similarly preoccupied with thoughts of him. He had to admit the thought pleased him a great deal, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what had possessed him to kiss her in the first place. He didn't regret it. Definitely not. He just wasn’t the move-making type.  
  
Maybe that was why Natasha had asked if their "public display of affection" to avoid Rumlow and the rest of Strike team had been his first kiss since waking up. It had actually been his fourth, having been the recipient of grateful kisses from some of the bolder women he’d helped in one way or another. Kissing Sharon had definitely been the first time he’d made the move though — even Peggy had initiated their all-too-brief kiss before he rushed off for his final showdown with the Red Skull.   
  
But Sharon...well, he’d told her the truth. He always told the truth. He’d liked her, even without Natasha’s nudging. He’d liked her almost immediately since he moved into his apartment and caught his first glimpse of her in a pair of light purple scrubs and her hair pulled back on her way to the hospital — or so he’d thought. He wondered briefly how her deception had worked. Were those her own scrubs, maybe from her pre-med days? Did she wear them to work and change in the locker room at the Triskelion? How had they avoided crossing paths when he’d been at the SHIELD HQ? What did she do when she wasn't watching over him?  
  
Not that those details mattered, he thought. Not really. Or, at least, he tried not to let them matter.   
  
_The truth isn’t all things to all people_ , Natasha had told him and maybe she was right on some level but the truth was important to him.   
  
He’d initially fallen for Sharon without even knowing her real name. Could he build a relationship with someone who’d started out lying to him?  
  
He thought about his parents and their relationship.Two Brooklyn kids who’d grown up, fallen in love, gotten married and had a kid of their own. They’d been happy before the war. A unit.   
  
Steve wanted that, more than he could say, and he didn’t deny the sadness he felt when he wondered if he could ever have it. A wife, a family. He was a man out of his time, sometimes at odds with the world he found himself in.   
  
_Always so dramatic_ , Peggy had said. Maybe she was right, too. Maybe he was overthinking things.  
  
He heard Sharon sigh again.  
  
He wondered if he’d ever crossed the hall to her apartment on those restless nights, if he would have kissed her then, what would that have done to him once he found out she wasn’t who he thought? Would she have told him herself if they’d become intimate. Would she have lost her job? Or worse?  
  
He’d never know, he supposed, sighing a bit himself. He wondered now what would happen if he took that metaphoric trip across the hall and went up to her room. Maybe they could overcome the lies and make up for lost time.  
  
Steve set his book down and was halfway up the stairs when he heard her door open and watched her walk out. She’d pulled her hair back and was wearing a pair of grey cotton pants and a tee-shirt with some cartoon cat on it. He wondered if she’d been entertaining the same thoughts he had and half-expected her to turn and see him standing on the stairs.   
  
Instead, oblivious to his presence, she headed to the other end of the hallway, past Sam’s room, and let herself into Bucky’s room.


	11. Chapter 11

Just after sunrise, Sharon crept out of Bucky’s room and back to her own. He’d been peaceful most of the night, only one nightmare as far as she could tell and even that only elicited a few whimpers as she’d soothed him back to sleep.  
  
Though she would have enjoyed spending the evening downstairs exploring her evolving relationship with Steve, Sharon didn’t know what the break in routine would have done for Bucky’s progress and he seemed to be doing so much better with the much-needed sleep her presence afforded him.  
  
Hopefully, if he followed his usual pattern, he’d get a few more uninterrupted hours of sleep even without her.   
  
Normally that would mean that she’d finally crawl into her own bed but she doubted sleep would come. Instead, she stripped off her pajamas and got in the shower, hoping Sam would still be asleep and maybe she could get some quality alone time with Steve.   
  
She sang as she washed, unable to help herself, and continued to hum while she got dressed.   
  


* * *

  
While a cheerful Sharon sang upstairs, a sleepless Steve heard the opening and closing of doors and the creak of the floor as Sharon snuck out of Bucky’s bedroom. He’d been awake all night, hearing the moans and whispers that came from the room, wishing to God he couldn’t and hardening his heart against the betrayal he felt.  
  
He’d wanted to go up there, to confront her, but he didn’t know what that would do to Bucky. His best friend was fragile; not only could he not start a fight in front of him him but Steve couldn’t believe that Sharon would have taken advantage of his friend's vulnerable state.   
  
They’d been in the cabin a week alone together, he reminded himself. He supposed it was possible things just happened between a man and a woman under such circumstances — but he felt Sharon should have known better.   
  
And he definitely didn't think she should have come onto him yesterday. He couldn’t believe that he’d fallen for her act, that he'd been taken in by the hero worship she’d fed him.  
  
He heard the shower turn off and knew it was only a matter of time before he'd confront her.   
  


* * *

  
A showered, dressed and refreshed Sharon practically bounced into the kitchen. They were nearly out of eggs — Steve’s culinary skills depleting most of the four dozen Sam had purchased — but she thought she could stretch what was left to make French toast. She wanted happy food and the boys would just benefit from her good mood.  
  
Sharon was pleasantly surprised to find Steve already in the kitchen, the smile on her face growing wider when she saw him — and then deflating a bit when she saw the dark look on his face.  
  
"Rough night?" she asked, pressing start on the coffee pot she'd programmed the night before. "Does coffee help? I mean, I know you drink it, but does the caffeine do anything for you?" She reached up into he cupboard, grabbed two mugs. "I told you the couch was going to be too short and you should have taken my bed."  
  
"If I'd know you weren’t going to use it, I would have," Steve said and she turned at the tone in his voice to find him scowling at her.   
  
"What..? Oh," she said, realizing that he must have seen her go in or out of Bucky's room. "Steve, I was —"  
  
"Don't," he said. "Just don't. I don't like being played and you've managed to do it twice now. I don't need anymore confessions or apologies. I just need you to stay away from me."  
  
Her heart sank, a sick weight in her stomach, his words were so harsh — she couldn't believe he thought so little of her.   
  
"Steve, if you'd let me explain —"  
  
"No!" he said sharply, the sudden anger on his face unlike any she'd seen on him. He closed the distance between them, towering over her. "I don't want any more of your lies."   
  
Feeling closed in, she shifted to get around him and he caught her shoulder to keep her there — only to let go just as quickly when she cried out and pulled away.  
  
He was angry, he knew that, but he didn’t think he’d grabbed her that hard. He reached for her again but the look in her eye had him putting his hand back at his side.  
  
A small measure of panic and her own hurt feelings had her back up as she looked at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, both at his words and his action.   
  
"I didn't play you, Steve. Not before and not now. My feelings for you are real and they always have been. If you'd let me explain instead of being a big dumb male you'd know that I was in Bucky's room because he can't sleep." Angry now, she pulled open her shirt, buttons scattering across the kitchen, and bared the raw and bruised skin around her neck, upper chest and shoulder. "He has nightmares. Night terrors if we're being accurate. Our first night here he caught me by surprise, dislocated my shoulder and tried to strangle me. Despite that, I rock him to sleep every night like the lost little boy he is so he can get a few hours of precious sleep without drowning in the horrors of what was done to him. Without reliving what he did to those forty-seven people. So he can get some damn peace."  
  
Shame flooded Steve as he studied the dark pattern of bruising that marred Sharon's skin, as he imagined his own hand adding to that pain.   
  
He stared at her, exposed figuratively and literally with her tear-filled eyes and torn shirt.  
  
"Sharon, I —"  
  
"No," she said, a single tear escaping and rolling down her cheek. "It's my turn to feel anger and betrayal." She pulled her shirt closed and grabbed the keys to Peggy’s SUV, sitting on the counter where Sam had left them. "I'm going to town. I need to get away from you for a while. And I'm sure we need more of your damn eggs."  
  
With that, she stormed past him and out the back door. He heard the truck door open and one gut-wrenching sob that escaped before she managed to pull the door shut. Not long after, the engine turned over and he heard her shift gears and pull away.  
  
Steve stood there in the kitchen, listening as the engine grew quieter in the distance and staring at a wayward shirt button that had landed on the countertop next to him.  
  
He was a big dumb male, he thought, jumping to the wrong conclusion about Sharon once again. Thinking she was a Hydra operative and now assuming that she was — what — seducing him and Bucky?  
  
Angry at himself, Steve didn't hear Sam come into the kitchen, drawn downstairs by the angry voices.  
  
"What's going on?" he asked, "I heard Sharon shouting."  
  
Steve explained about his misunderstanding, about seeing Sharon sneaking out of Bucky's room.   
  
"I don't think she was necessarily sneaking, Steve. I saw her the first night we were here on my way back from the bathroom."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"It's not a big place, man. I didn't think it was a secret."  
  
"And I jumped to the wrong conclusion and hurt her."  
  
Sam wanted to be sympathetic but found it difficult considering that Steve had done exactly that. "You need to go after her, man. She shouldn't be driving if she's as upset as she sounded."  
  
Sam was right, Steve knew. If anything happened to her, it would be his fault.  
  
Her ran out the door without a backward glance and Sam watched as he disappeared down the drive.   
  
"Or," Sam muttered to himself, "There's a perfectly good car just sitting out front you could have taken."   
  
He shook his head, hoping Steve didn't screw things up even more.


	12. Chapter 12

The cold air slapped at Steve but he didn't feel it any more than he felt the frozen ground beneath his feet as he followed the drive that wound its way through the property.   
  
He caught up to the SUV much more quickly than he’d expected, not even a half-mile from the house. He had a moment of panic seeing it sitting there, the driver door open, until he saw that Sharon was sitting on a snowy stump next to it.   
  
She looked up at his approach, eyes red and face set.   
  
"I’m upset, not stupid," she said by way of explanation, not that he deserved one. "I know better than to drive angry."  
  
"Sharon, I —"  
  
"What, Steve? You don’t trust me? Yeah, I get that. I lied to you. I thought we were past that, thought we…I don’t know…were starting something together. But apparently I was wrong and you’ll always assume the worst of me."  
  
She shivered, the mad fading to sadness and, with it, a mindfulness of the cold and the fact that she was wearing only the ripped flannel.   
  
"I’m going back to D.C. Hopefully Bucky can adjust and continue to improve with you and Sam here." She sniffed, trying to convince herself it was from the cold and not from lingering tears. "You want me out of your way, that's the best I can do."  
  
"I don’t want you to go," he said quietly. "I’m sorry for what I said, what I thought. I’m sorry for hurting you."  
  
"We’ve both been sorry about a lot of things and it hasn’t gotten us anywhere."  
  
"I thought we were starting something, too," he said. "And it was all I could think about last night. I couldn’t get you off mind, couldn’t help but hope that maybe…" He took a breath, tried a different angle. "My parents were a team, a unit. They shared everything, loved and trusted each other. That’s what I’ve always wanted, a partner I can share everything with, to love and trust. Yesterday, I started wondering for the first time since I woke up if I might actually have a chance at that. I wondered last night how I could have that with you when our relationship started with a lie."  
  
Her lip trembled, wondering why him saying they couldn’t be together was still so hard after she’d already come to that conclusion herself.   
  
"But now I realize, our problem isn't the presence of lies, it's the absence of trust." He knelt in the ground at her feet and looked up at her. "And that's on me, not you. You told me one lie. It was a big one but you were just doing your job. And I’ve used that to push you away. To punish you for all the times I've been lied to because yours hurt the most."  
  
She opened her mouth in defense but he shook his head and continued, "You were up here, on your own, taking care of Bucky. I can't even imagine what you've been through, knowing he hurt you, and I can't tell you how much it means to me. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions last night — you have no idea how much I wish I hadn’t."  
  
She snorted a not-quite-laugh. "I can’t believe you’d think I would…with Bucky…I’ve been mothering him, Steve, not seducing him."  
  
He took her hands in his, bowed his head over them. "I think it’s time I started earning your trust." He glanced up at her, his own eyes shiny with unshed tears. "Please don’t go."  
  
He touched her face lightly and she shivered again, leaning into the warmth.   
  
"Let's get you back into the truck," he said. "You have to be freezing."  
  
"Me?" she sniffled, her eyes on the ground. "Steve, you're not even wearing shoes."  
  
He stood and looked down at his bare feet as though he'd forgotten. "I was worried about you."  
  
She took his offered hand and stood, allowing him to envelope her in a hug. "I'm sorry, Sharon."  
  
"No more apologies, Steve. If we're going to do this, if we're going to be together, we have to move past the lies and the sorries," she smiled. "Besides, you only reacted as rashly as you did because that means you care about me that much, maybe as much as I care about you. Let's focus on that instead."  
  
She pushed up onto her toes and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. "I care about you, Steve."  
  
"I care about you, Sharon," he said. "Now, let's get you back inside."  
  


* * *

  
Sam and Bucky were both gone when they got back and Steve figured he owed his wingman. His relationship with Bucky was still rocky at best and if the Winter Soldier knew Steve had hurt Sharon...  
  
Sharon went upstairs to her room to change the shirt he'd ripped while Steve stopped in the kitchen to pour her a mug of coffee and carried it up.  
  
He knocked softly on the door and entered at her quiet welcome.  
  
Steve couldn't help the hot coffee he sloshed over the rim and onto his hand when he opened the door. He barely felt the burn of the hot liquid as he stared — he couldn't help himself — at a exposed flesh of a shirtless Sharon. He hadn’t seen so much female flesh outside of the catalogs that piled up in his mailbox. Modesty wasn't the same thing to women of this time as it was back in his and it still took him by surprise.   
  
He felt like he should look away, especially before she caught him staring, but his attention was drawn away from the light blue lace of her bra to the varied collection of bruises on her back.   
  
He set the coffee down and moved to her, the embarrassment passing as his concern grew.   
  
"Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?" he asked, his hand gentle as he touched her bruise-less shoulder, pushed her hair aside to see the rest.  
  
Sharon turned to look at him, the expression on her face reminding him of Peggy — quite awkward given his budding feelings for her niece and Sharon's current state of undress.  
  
"Right," he said, clearing his throat, "You’re nearly a doctor yourself."   
  
"That’s right," she said, rolling her bruised shoulder a bit. "And I'm nearly as tough you as since I managed to relocate my shoulder myself."  
  
He ran his finger along her collarbone, tracing the bruises at her neck and practically able to see Bucky's fingerprints in them.  
  
"And these? Any lingering damage?"  
  
She shook her head. "At least it was with his real arm and not the bionic one."  
  
"Bionic?" he asked, watching with a small measure of disappointment as she bent to pick up a new shirt.  
  
"Science fiction from the Seventies. You can add it to your list."  
   
She pulled one sleeve on, and he noticed the angry and not-quite-healed scar on her other arm.  
  
"What’s this?" he asked, taking her arm in his hands and tracing his finger along the ragged edge.  
  
"Rumlow. He pulled a knife and got away from me that last day at the Triskelion. It’s going to be an ugly scar since I had to restitch it after Bucky arrived at Aunt Peggy's estate."  
  
"You’ve really gone through a lot for him," he said quietly as he released her arm so she could finish dressing.  
  
"Aunt Peggy asked me to protect him and I've grown to care for him myself. I know from the stories I read as a kid how much he meant to you and what a good man he once was. Honestly, I'd hoped if I could help Bucky it would be like I was helping you."  
  
Her fingers stilled on the buttons of the new shirt, part of her still exposed, when she suddenly realized how close Steve had gotten. Sharon honestly wasn't sure who'd stepped toward whom but she looked up at him, found her face only inches from his, and swore she could feel the heat radiating off his body at his proximity.   
  
She licked her lip self-consciously; felt a jolt when Steve's tongue flicked out to do the same to his.  
  
"Sharon, I…"  
  
 _Oh hell_ , she thought, and reached up to close the scant distance between them.   
  


* * *

  
  
Unlike their first kiss which had been slow exploration, this one felt — Steve didn’t know — urgent somehow.   
  
He ran his hands down her back, pulling her closer and thinking she’d never be close enough, as he deepened the kiss. She stood on her toes to accommodate and wound her own hands around his neck for support.  
  
His hands came to rest at her waist, touching bare flesh as her new shirt still wasn’t completely buttoned. As much as he liked the feel of her soft skin, propriety had him quickly moving his hands away toward the safety of denim — only to find himself cradling her hips, his large hands covering her backside.   
  
He panicked, not sure where was considered appropriate to rest his hands, and pulled them back up to her waist and then held them aloft, his fingers itching to touch her.  
  
Sharon laughed against his mouth as she realized what the manic movement of his hands meant. She let go of his neck and put her hands over his, guiding them back to the bare flesh of her waist. His fingers dug in slightly — he couldn’t help himself — and she moaned.   
  
Worried he had offended her — or, worse, hurt her again — he pulled back, breaking the kiss and loosening his hold on her.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said.  
  
"No more apologies, remember?" Sharon ran her hands over his chest, felt the muscles flex under her open palms. "I want you to touch me, Steve, just as much as I want to touch you. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to do something you think inappropriate well before you'll do anything to offend me."  
  
To demonstrate, she ran her thumbs in a concentric circles over his pecs that had his nipples tightening under this shirt and caused him to blush. "See?" she asked, her smile widening. "Aren't you offended?"  
  
He laid his hands over hers to stop the torturous ministrations, laughing, and bent his head down to kiss her again.


	13. Chapter 13

By the time Bucky and Sam returned from their run, Sharon and Steve were working together in the kitchen with battered bread sizzling on the skillet.  
  
An exhausted Sam followed a hungry Bucky in through the back door, pleased to see the alone time he bought the two had paid off. He could definitely tell that french toast wasn't the only thing cooking.   
  
Of course, now that the two of them had finally done what Sam figured they should have from the beginning, he wondered how Bucky would take it.   
  
The broken Winter Soldier adored Sharon, and Sam understood that; she'd cared for him when no one in nearly seventy years had.   
  
Steve, on the other hand, Bucky still wasn't entirely comfortable around, which Sam could also appreciate. Maybe, if Steve and Sharon had worked out their issues, Bucky would take that cue from his guardian angel and follow suit.   
  
Or, and Sam worried it was more likely, Bucky would see Steve as competition for Sharon's attention and he'd try to complete his final mission.    
  
So far, though, Bucky seemed more interested in the loaded plate of toast, eggs and bacon Sharon had put in front of him. Sam started putting together his own plate knowing that, around here, if you didn't get your food before the super soldiers started, you probably wouldn't.   
  
Eyeing the empty cartons stacked next to the sink, Sam observed, "Looks like I'll be doing another grocery run today."  
  
"You don't have to, Sam," Sharon said. "I can go. You've done the last two runs."  
  
"The guy at the store did give me strange looks last time. Probably don't get a lot of guys like me buying large quantities of eggs and candy bars every couple of days."  
  
"Speaking of," Sharon said, looking pointedly at Steve. "I noticed my peanut butter cups went missing again. Anyone care to fess up?"  
  
Steve quickly shoved a forkful of toast into his mouth and shrugged.   
  
She narrowed her eyes at him but couldn't quite manage a believing scowl. "I'll just be sure to pick up enough for the both of us."  
  
Sam didn't know if it was possible to have enough peanut butter cups for Captain America's sweet tooth but didn't say anything as he noticed Bucky watching the exchange over his empty plate.   
  


* * *

  
Bucky felt Sam's eyes on him, watching as he watched Sharon and Steve.   
  
He knew Sharon had seemed different last night. He hadn't been able to specify what had changed about her until this morning, seeing the way she was with Steve.  
  
She was smiling a lot. She smiled before but it was brighter somehow and for him. And he kept touching Sharon — her hand, the small of her back, her hair.  
  
Bucky had observed this behavior before, seen it in public places while on various missions. He didn't have a name for it but he knew it made him sad, made him yearn for something he couldn't identify; miss something he couldn't remember.  
  
Whatever it was, it made Sharon happy and making Sharon happy was important to Bucky because, frankly, she was important to him.  
  
He wasn't sure if he cared about Steve's happiness, though he also seemed to be very happy by whatever was going on between him and Sharon. While it was true that he'd been unable to carry out his mission, ultimately saving Captain America rather than killing him, Bucky had a difficult time resolving his continued existence with everything his handlers had violently programmed into him.  
  
On the plus side, with his attention on Sharon, Steve was no longer looking at Bucky with expectant eyes, like he was willing Bucky to remember him. He wished he did; wished he could remember the Sergeant Barnes he'd read about, the one in the videos he'd watched. Sometimes, he'd glimpse some of that past, feel like it had happened to him, but he could never hold the moment long enough to truly remember it.  
  
He was starting to think the man he'd been was gone, lost in the torture and "therapy" at the hands of Hydra.  
  
The only thing he seemed to remember was the nightmares, the pain and horrors of his life as the Winter Soldier.   
  
"Bucky?"  
  
He looked up at the sound of Sharon's voice and saw the concern on her face, followed her eyes to see he'd been clenching his fist, the fork he'd been holding warped in his metal grip.   
  
"Are you alright?" she asked and moved forward, Steve shadowing and then outpacing her to shield her from Bucky as Bucky had done when Steve and Sam first arrived.   
  
"He's not going to hurt me, Steve," he heard her whisper.  
  
"He already has," Steve answered. "He's obviously been set off by something."  
  
Sharon shoved at Steve's shoulder and he stepped aside but hovered as Sharon took the seat next to Bucky.   
  
"What is it, Bucky?" she asked in the same soothing tone she used after his nightmares. She placed her hand on his arm and his fist relaxed as he leaned into the comfort, not realizing how much craved it. She stroked his hair, felt his forehead. Something stirred in him, a vague memory of a soft hand doing the same. It was gone in a moment and he already forgot it by the time she asked again what was wrong.  
  
"Nothing," he said. "I was...remembering."  
  
"Remembering what?" Steve asked.  
  
"Nightmares," Sharon answered, recognizing the signs. "Everyone here cares about you, Bucky. There's no need for nightmares here." She stroked his arm softly.  
  
"Maybe I should go into town," Sam offered, "and you can stay here with Bucky."  
  
Sharon looked at Bucky. "No, I think we should all go into town."  
  
"Is that a good idea?" Steve asked.  
  
"Bucky's been cooped up since we got here. I think a change of scenery would do us all good."


	14. Chapter 14

Steve was the only one who hadn't spent any time in town, save for passing through when he and Sam first arrived, and he watched from the backseat as Sharon maneuvered the SUV past a series of small shops. It seemed like a nice place, quiet, with only a few people milling about in the unseasonably cool temperatures.   
  
It was cold enough even he was wearing a jacket, though that was more because Sharon insisted he and Bucky would draw more attention to themselves if they weren't bundled up like everyone else. He also wore the thick-rimmed glasses Black Widow had given him and, coupled with a scarf and cap, he figured no one would pay any attention to him.  
  
Sharon had snorted at him when he'd said as much aloud. "They might not recognize you, but you're still going to attract attention."  
  
Self-conscious, he'd looked in the side mirror before they'd all loaded into the SUV.  
  
"You're a good looking guy, Cap," Sharon said assuringly. "Women can't help but look at you."  
  
"It's the price we pay for being pretty," Sam said, clapping him on the shoulder in solidarity.  
  
Honestly, Steve had never thought about the attention he drew having to do with anything other than women — and men — recognizing him as Captain America. He'd been so self-conscious after the serum, after what it had done to his body, that he'd shied away from any attention given to it. He was too big, too lumpy and he ate too much. He'd felt like a freak but accepted it because of what the serum helped him do for his country.  
  
He looked at Sharon, watched her expertly park the large vehicle in a narrow spot on the street, and wondered if it was Captain America or Steve Rogers she'd had the crush on. He supposed it didn't matter; they were together now.   
  
Once the truck was parked, the quartet broke into pairs, Bucky choosing to walk with Sam while Steve volunteered to get groceries with Sharon.   
  
As soon as Bucky and Sam turned out of sight, headed toward a movie theater Sharon had pointed out on their drive, Steve slipped his hand into hers. She smiled up at him, still a little surprised that the man she'd fantasized about for so long was now hers.   
  
"If we didn't have the boys in tow, we could consider this a first date," she said, then laughed at the expression on his face. "What's the matter?"  
  
Steve blushed, something Sharon still found remarkable and adorable. "I've never actually been on a date. Are you sure this counts?"  
  
"I think a date is what you make of it," she said after a moment. "I'm walking around a picturesque mountain town with the man of my dreams. Seems pretty date-y to me."  
  
She reached into her pocket when her cell phone beeped. "Better reception here in town," she observed as she read the message from Sam. "Sam and Bucky are going to watch a movie. I guess that means we've got time for that date if you're interested."  
  
He bent down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "I'm very interested."  
  


* * *

  
They started their date, as most do, with food. Steve spotted the small diner and suggested coffee and pie.   
  
They settled into a rear booth and ordered, conversation flowing easily as she asked him questions about his old life, not just before he woke up but before the war. She cringed for him when he told her how he got beat up a lot, cheered because Bucky always saved him, smiled when he talked about parents, teared up at their passing, and offered her own insights when he moved to his first year in the army.   
  
"One of my favorite of Aunt Peggy's stories was at Camp Leahy," she said, stealing a bite of apple pie from his plate. "The grenade. You jumped on it without a second thought. All ninety-five pounds of you. I think that's the story that made six-year-old me fall in love with you."  
  
"That was before the serum," he said, taking an even larger bite of the cherry cobbler from Sharon's plate. "I was still Skinny Steve."  
  
"You were still you. Selfless. Heroic. Isn't that why you were chosen?" She laid a hand over his, gave it a squeeze. "You're not Captain America just because of what you can do but because of who you are. I've read the reports, heard the stories. The serum took a good man and gave him the strength to do great things."  
  
"Does that mean you'll give me get the rest of your cobbler?"  
  
"Not a chance, pal," she said, lifting the last bite to her mouth. "But I'd be willing to order another."  
  
And they did. After an entire apple pie and two cobblers, Sharon suggested they take their date on the road and walk off their dessert.  
  
Hand-in-hand, they continued sharing stories and conversation.  
  
"I just knew when you were on missions," she was saying about his time as her special assignment. "I didn't know where you were going or what you were doing."  
  
"Neither did I, most of the time," Steve said. "I wasn't given the mission parameters until we were enroute. Fury liked to play everything close to the vest — compartmentalizing, he called it. Even though I was leading the team, I often felt like Black Widow and Strike team knew something I didn't."  
  
"Speaking of Black Widow, and you don't have to tell if it's betraying a confidence or anything, but what's up with her and Barton? I've heard rumors but..."  
  
"Natasha likes to play that close to the vest herself so I don't even really know," Steve answered. "Hawkeye was on a deep cover assignment for a couple months when the Triskelion fell. I haven't heard from either of them since."  
  
"You're not exactly easy to find right now. The is the first time I've had decent cell reception in a month."  
  
"If Natasha wanted to find me, she would."  
  
As they passed a hardware store, Sharon said, "I'd like to stop in here, see if they've got any new games for Bucky."  
  
Steve followed as Sharon led them to a narrow aisle of children's toys and games. "I hoped they'd still stock kids' items" she said as she picked up a couple of puzzles and another Sudoku book. "Having you and Sam around has been great for expanding Bucky's social interaction but he still seems to enjoy these."  
  
She turned with her pile and noticed that Steve's attention was on another display.   
  
"I..." Steve wasn't sure what to say as an army of small plastic _hims_ stared back.   
  
Amused, Sharon grabbed a Captain America action figure — complete with throwing shield — and added it to her pile.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
Her grin was cheeky. "What girl doesn't want a Captain America of her own?"  
  
"You already have Captain America."  
  
"Now I'll have two," she countered, picking the toy up and rubbing its torso with her thumb. "I wonder if he's as sensitive as the real deal."  
  
Steve could have sworn his skin tightened under his sweater as she caressed the stupid toy. "Stop that."  
  
"Oh, Steve," she said, putting the figure back down. "You're the only Captain America I want to tease." She shifted the pile of games so she could kiss him in an effort to wipe the scowl off his face.  
  
"Come on, the boys will beat us to the market if we don't hurry."

 

* * *

 

Sharon and Steve walked back to the SUV with their purchases and drove to the grocery store, pulling into the parking lot just as Sam and Bucky were walking up.  
  
"Perfect timing," Sam said.  
  
"How was the movie?" Sharon asked Bucky.  
  
"I didn't understand most of the jokes until Sam explained them."  
  
"Fortunately we were the only ones in the theater so we didn't ruin anyone else's good time but talking all the way through the film," Sam said. "What did you two do?"  
  
"Pie and hardware," Sharon answered vaguely.  
  
"Sounds kind of kinky," Sam said, looking at Steve. "I'm impressed."  
  
Steve explained, looking at Sharon. "We ate pie and then went to the hardware store."  
  
"Where Steve played with himself," Sharon added, that cheeky grin back.  
  
"You're a new man in town, Cap."  
  
"It was a Captain America action figure," Steve said, not really helping his case. "And Sharon was the one playing with it."  
  
Bucky looked at Sharon, then Sam and, finally, Steve. "I don't think I get these jokes either.  
  
"You and me both, Buck," Steve said, putting his arm around his fellow man out of time and the two of them headed into the grocery store together, leaving a surprised Sam and Sharon behind.   
  
"Do you think either of them realize what just happened?" Sharon asked.   
  
"Maybe you were right about a trip to town doing us all some good," Sam said. "They almost looked like those pictures from the old days."  
  
"Yeah..." Sharon wiped at a tear she didn't realize had formed at the corner of her eye. 


	15. Chapter 15

In unspoken agreement, no one commented on Bucky's leap in progress while they were in town but they all definitely noticed and appreciated it. Even though he didn't remember Steve or his life before Hydra ensnared him, he was a little bit more of the Bucky Barnes Steve grew up with.  
  
In a celebratory mood, Sam braved the cold and fired up the grill behind the cabin for the steaks they'd picked up while Bucky and Steve cleaned vegetables.   
  
With no dinner assignment herself, Sharon thumbed through one of the newspapers Sam had purchased at the market. She'd read the headlines about the continuing SHIELD hearings and had purposely not picked up any of the periodicals she'd seen at the store.  
  
Now, with the newspaper just sitting there, she couldn't help but be drawn into the drama and finger-pointing of Congress and the media.  
  
"They sentenced the members of Strike they were able to find," Sam said, coming in from the cold and seeing what Sharon was reading.   
  
"I never liked most of Strike Team, even before we found out they were all Hydra," Sharon said, folding the paper and setting it aside.  
  
"Why was that?" Steve asked from the sink, a half-peeled carrot in his hand.  
  
"With the exception of you and Black Widow, they thought they were better than the rest of the agents and entitled to whatever they wanted." She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "Some of the male team members -- and a few of the females -- were known for being aggressive with the junior agents."  
  
"Aggressive how?" Bucky asked.  
  
Sharon gave Sam a look, wondering how best to explain the concept of sexual harassment to Steve and Bucky.   
  
"Some of them thought, because of their positions, that they had certain rights..." Sharon began.  
  
"Those over-muscled idiots thought the women at SHIELD should give into any sexual advances they made," Sam explained.  
  
Steve looked at Sharon.  
  
"Did one of them...you...?"  
  
Sharon nodded.  
  
"Couldn't you tell a superior?" he asked.  
  
"Right, because a SHIELD agent who can't defend herself from sexual harassment in the workplace was going to be able to handle herself in the field."  
  
"You should have still felt safe at HQ," Steve said. "Someone should have done something."  
  
She shrugged, not liking where the conversation had gone. "It didn't really work like that, Steve. I think the higher ups knew, they had to, but no one could or would talk about it."  
  
Bucky left his vegetable duty at the sink and moved next to Sharon, putting his arm around her shoulder. "I'm okay, Bucky," she told him. "It was a long time ago and I handled it."  
  
Steve set aside his own pile of vegetables, his hand fisted on the countertop. "Who was it?"  
  
"It doesn't matter now, Steve. Really."  
  
"Who was it?"  
  
"Rumlow," she said quietly. "He made several passes at me and I was usually able to just deflect them."  
  
"Usually?" Sam echoed.  
  
"Strike had just returned from some mission," Sharon continued, her eyes locked with Steve's. "I was biding my time in Communications so I wouldn't be seen and by the time I went to leave, he was waiting by my car in the garage."  
  
"What happened?"Steve asked.  
  
"He was high on saving the world," she began. "Talking about how he did things no one knew about but everyone should appreciate...and how I should show him some appreciation. He kissed me, or tried, and ripped my jacket when I pulled away." She swallowed, speaking as calmly as she could so Steve and Bucky wouldn't get more worked up than they already were. "He called me names, grabbed me again. I don't know what he would have done if Jasper Sitwell hadn't interfered on the way to his own car."  
  
"Sitwell?" Sam asked.  
  
"He was a Level 7," she explained, assuming Sam didn't know him. "I'd never been so happy to see him. He was usually kind of a weasel but I was grateful when Rumlow backed off right away."  
  
"Sitwell was Hydra," Sam said.  
  
"What?"  
  
Steve nodded in confirmation.   
  
"I did not expect that," Sharon said. "Like I said, he was a kind of a weasel but I didn't think he was a traitor. That's probably why Rumlow backed off so readily; I was so grateful that I didn't think about the fact that Rumlow didn't follow anyone's orders but Fury's."  
  
"Whatever his motives," Steve said, "I'm glad it meant you were okay."  
  
"And at least you don't have to worry about him or Rumlow anymore," Sam said, heading back out to check the steaks.  
  
"Yeah," Sharon said quietly, patting Bucky's hand. "At least there's that."  
  


* * *

  
  
Steve found Sharon sitting alone in the den after dinner. She had her legs over the arm of the chair and a blanket wrapped around her. The fire burned low, crackling softly and casting soft shadows in the room.  
  
She didn't look up at his entry but did give him a soft smile when he sat on the ottoman facing her.   
  
"You okay?" he asked. "You were quiet at dinner. I think Bucky said more than you did."  
  
"I'm fine," she said and realized it didn't sound particularly convincing. "It's just that I haven't thought about that night in a long time."  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
"Not really." She gave him a sad smile. "Which probably means that I should."  
  
They sat in silence a moment, the only sound in the room the snapping of the fire.   
  
"Do you want me to leave you alone?"  
  
"Definitely not."  
  
"What would you like?"  
  
Her smile widened and nearly reached her eyes. "You."  
  
Steve leaned forward, scooped her into his arms, stood, turned and sat himself in the chair with Sharon on his lap.   
  
"You have me."  
  
That made her laugh, a genuine smile on her lips. "You're a good boyfriend, Steve."  
  
His eyebrows rose. "I'm your boyfriend?"  
  
"Aren't you?"  
  
"Only if you want to be my girlfriend."  
  
Sharon laughed again. "I can't think of a time I wanted anything else more."  
  
"I think that settles it then. Sharon Carter is my girlfriend."  
  
"And Steve Rogers is my boyfriend." She giggled, then reddened when she realized she'd actually giggled. "What are we? Fourteen?"  
  
"Well, I'm like sixty-five years older than you..."  
  
"Really robbing the cradle, aren't you?"  
  
"I just assumed you had a thing for older men," he teased.  
  
"Depends on the guy," she said. "I mean, you're pretty hot for a nonagenarian."  
  
"Know a lot of good-looking ninety-year-olds?"  
  
"At least two of them..."  
  
Steve covered her mouth with his, cutting off her jokes. Sharon didn't mind, running her hands up his chest and into his hair. It was always so perfect, his hair, and she loved that, when it was mussed, it was because she'd done it.   
  
Enjoying the feel of Sharon's fingers in his hair, Steve brought his hands up to tangle in hers and, as she often did when he apparently did something she liked, Sharon moaned against his lips.   
  
Taking advantage of her parted lips, he slowly, hesitantly explored the inside of her mouth with his tongue, touching it to hers. He knew what French kissing was all about in theory but, in practice, he wasn't sure what to expect.   
  
Sharon stilled at the feel of Steve's bold move, surprise mixed with pleasure. She'd been prepared to take things slow — infinitely so, it had seemed — and here he was catching her off guard.  
  
Tentatively, hoping not to scare him off, she matched his movement and thrilled when his grip tightened in her hair.   
  
Between the fire in the hearth and the fire between them, Sharon was suddenly uncomfortably warm and kicked the blanket off her legs and wondered what Steve's reaction would be if she kicked an article of clothing or two aside as well.   
  
That thought, however, was halted by the sudden throat clearing behind them.   
  
They didn't exactly leap apart but it was close as Steve stood and nearly dropped Sharon in his haste, catching her just in time to see a smiling Sam standing in the doorway.  
  
"I was going to see if you two were interested in the movie I just popped in for me and Bucky but I can see you're already busy," he said with obvious amusement at Steve's discomfort — and Sharon's disappointment — at being caught in the midst of making out.  
  
Steve looked at Sharon, her face flushed, and wondered what the good boyfriend he'd been only moments ago would do.  
  
"I think we're good in here, Sam," he finally said.   
  
Sam refrained from saying "Yeah you are" and only smiled as he turned away.   
  
"You kids have fun now," he called over his shoulder. "But not too much fun."


	16. Chapter 16

Brock Rumlow couldn't say if he was happy to be alive but he sure as hell was surprised by it. 

He supposed he shouldn't have been. Hydra had invested a lot of time and resources into him so, if there was a chance he could be saved and repurposed, they would do everything they could to get him back into fighting form. 

It wasn't long after he was wheeled into the emergency room after the fall of the Triskelion that he found himself whisked away to a black wing of the hospital -- under construction as far as most of the hospital staff knew but fully functional under the directive of Hydra doctors. 

They upped the juice they'd already supplied him and the rest of Strike to maintain their physical edge over the SHIELD agents and set to work fixing the damage to his body. 

It had been painful, working for Hydra came with an understanding of pain, but after a month and a half he was back to his fighting form -- and then some. 

Looking in the mirror, he would be lying if he said he didn't mind the scarring on his face that they'd ignored in favor of repairing and strengthening his limbs, fixing the damage to his lungs. But the new strength he felt -- coupled with vengeance against the man who'd done this to him -- soothed his vanity. 

He'd done his research on Captain America's sidekick. Sergeant Samuel Wilson. Former Air Force pararescueman. Rumlow knew his habits, his haunts, his history. The only thing he didn't know was where the man was hiding. 

Yet. 

With the resources of Hydra at his disposal, it wouldn't be long before he found the Falcon and made him pay.

In the meantime...

He turned from the mirror and regarded the blinking icon on his computer screen. The locator beacon he'd planted nearly a year ago was about to pay off and prove unlucky for Agent 13.


	17. Chapter 17

It snowed again a few days later and, somehow, Sam thought it was a good idea to have a friendly snowball fight with two super soldiers.   
  
Bundled against the cold, it didn't take long to realize his mistake when they split into teams and he was repeatedly pelted by frozen fast balls from Steve. His heavy down coat and other layers absorbed some of the impact -- at first -- but Sam knew the soft chicken stuffing wasn't going to last long against the endless barrage.   
  
Unlike Sam, who Bucky had abandoned on the ground as soon as the first snowballs started to fly, Sharon was safe behind the snowy trench Steve created as her boyfriend shielded her from incoming munitions.  
  
"This was your idea, Sam," she called out, laughing, as a snowy cannonball took out the shelter Sam had finally built. "You should have known what you were getting yourself into."  
  
"Yeah?" Sam taunted from behind the remains of his snow-wall. "Maybe if I made out with Bucky he'd do all the work while I hid behind him, too."  
  
With mock outrage, Sharon gathered up her own snowball and let loose — only to watch in horror as Steve popped up from the trench just in time to have the throw hit him in the back of the head.  
  
He turned slowly and the look on his face clearly conveyed that Sharon was suddenly a team of one and was going to have to fend for herself.   
  
She made a run for it, dashing just out of reach only to have Steve race ahead and catch her as she ran straight right into his arms.   
  
"Not so fast," he said, scooping her up and holding her aloft. "There are consequences for shooting your own teammate."  
  
It didn't take long to realize Steve's intentions as he carried her toward a deep bank of snow.   
  
"Don't you dare, Rogers!" she shouted, trying not to laugh. "I mean it, Steve!"  
  
From his perch in the trees, Bucky, who a week ago would have punched Steve -- and had -- for simply raising his voice at Sharon, watched as he dumped her into the pile of freshly thrown snow -- and laughed loudly along with Sam.  
  
Though the sound of Bucky's laughter warmed Sharon's heart, the rest of her was suddenly cold, damp, and none-too-pleased with her boyfriend.   
  
She glared up at Steve from her prone position inside the snowbank. "Are you just going to leave me here?"  
  
He looked like he thought about it a little too long before he reached down and picked Sharon up again, this time to gently set her on her feet as he helped brush snow off of her.   
  
She batted his hands away.   
  
"This was fun but I'm going inside now," she announced. "I'm going to take a hot shower and then I'm going to make cocoa for everyone." She shot Steve a look. "Except you."  
  
His lip jutted out in a pout.  
  
Sharon laughed again, she couldn't help herself, and kissed the frown off his face."Okay," she said. "You stay out here with your little friends and I'll make you all cocoa. Consider it your reward for making Bucky laugh."  
  
She turned to go inside and almost immediately heard the thuds and laughter of the game's renewed vigor.  
  


* * *

  
  
Upstairs in the shower, the water as hot as she could stand, Sharon smiled. She was sure Steve should still pay for dumping her in the snow but she'd been so happy to see Bucky smiling, laughing and almost looking like the Bucky Barnes she'd seen in old photographs, that she couldn't think of a suitable revenge.  
  
While it was looking like Bucky would never regain the memories of his life before Hydra, he had at least regained some of who he was before the Winter Soldier.  
  
She turned the water off and could still hear the boys playing outside. She was pretty sure she'd have to lure them in with the promised cocoa because there was no way they'd halt their play before dark otherwise. Maybe she'd bake something to go along with their warm beverages. There was nothing like brownies in the oven on a snowy afternoon.  
  
Thinking about her supplies and suitable recipes, she pulled on her thick robe and tied the belt, then wrapped a towel around her hair as she stepped into her room -- only to be grabbed forcefully from behind.   
  
"Remember me, Blondie?" a raspy voice asked and she saw her own reflection on the opposite wall, held in a chokehold by a scarred and barely recognizable Brock Rumlow.   
  
Her eyes widened in recognition.   
  
"That's right, I knew you would," he said. "I bet you also remember how you were too good for me, never giving me the time of day. And now I find you up here playing house with the Cap and his freak friends."   
  
His arm across her throat tightened, bruising her windpipe and pulling her feet off the floor. She flailed, the feeling of helplessness from that night so long ago quickly turning to panic.   
  
Her futile efforts elicited a raspy laugh.  
  
"Yeah. I always knew you'd be a spitfire. Bet the Cap likes that, especially after hanging around a woman like Romanov. She was outta his league but I bet you do him pretty nicely."   
  
Sharon saw the glint of a blade, watched in the mirror as he brought the knife up and held it inches from her face. "What'd'ya say, Blondie? Wanna do nicely for me like you do the Cap?"  
  
Fighting the fear that clawed at her, she tore her eyes away from the twisted look on Rumlow's face and spotted her purse on the nightstand next to the bed -- with her gun inside and just out of reach.   
  
She kicked again, this time to reach the wall where she braced her legs and pushed them both toward the bed.   
  
He fell onto the mattress, knocking the nightstand over and her purse to the floor. His grip on her held, though, and he shifted his hold so that he now held her arms pinned. With the pressure gone from her throat, she screamed, but only a hoarse croak escaped her lips.  
  
"Let's just keep it you and me for a bit," he said against her hair and made an exaggerated sniff of her scalp that had her skin crawling.  
  
"Smells nice," he taunted. "It's like you knew we had a date."  
  
A wave of revulsion and adrenalin had her stomach roiling even as she threw her head back and made painful contact with Rumlow's face.   
  
"You bitch!" he growled angrily, throwing her to the floor but not before he lashed out with the knife and caught her in the arm.  
  
If she could have yelled, she would have. Instead she grit her teeth and ignored the blood that soaked the robe of her sleeve and dove for the purse as she fell.   
  
She landed on top of it and groped blindly for the gun while Rumlow clutched at his bloody nose behind her. Her hand closed around the handle but before she had could take grab the gun and take aim, Rumlow lunged at her and the knife bit into her thigh as he pulled her toward him, pinning her to the floor.   
  
"You're gonna wish you hadn't done that," he said against her ear. He grabbed her hair, yanking her head back painfully. "You're gonna wish you'd played nice." He gripped her shoulders and flipped her onto her back, a manic gleam in his eye. "You're gonna wish I'd just killed you."  
  
He straddled her hips, her arms trapped at her sides, as he slashed at her robe and pushed the useless material aside. He took the knife to her and Sharon felt the knife as he cut her again and again, shallow cuts that stung with every pass of the blade.   
  
Numbly, she realized her hand was still inside her purse. Out of options, she gripped the gun and squeezed the trigger — the bullet tearing through her purse and burning her own leg as it shot past and embedded itself harmlessly into the wall.   
  
If the gunshot surprised Rumlow, he didn't show.   
  
"Nice try, Blondie," he said, looking up at her. "Just wait —"  
  
His final taunt was lost in the breaking of glass and anguished cry as Steve crashed through the window and tackled the Strike commander, pulling him off of Sharon.


	18. Chapter 18

The shot from Sharon's gun may as well have been a starting pistol. No sooner had it gone off than Steve turned and leaped from where he'd been standing, about to throw a snowball at a tree-dwelling Bucky, and crashed through the second story bedroom window.   
  
Bucky and Sam followed immediately — Bucky scaling the side of the house in pursuit and Sam running through the front door and up the stairs.   
  
No sooner had Sam reached the top of the steps than an enraged Bucky and their intruder came crashing through the bedroom door and out into the hallway toward him. He jumped past just in time as the two rolled down the steps and continued fighting downstairs. Sam dashed up the remaining stairs and rushed into the bedroom to find Steve wrapping Sharon in a blanket, whispering comforting words to her.  
   
He looked up at Sam, and the anguish and rage in his eyes was like nothing Sam had seen from the hero.   
  
"Rumlow," Steve bit out at Sam's unasked question.  
  
Sam didn't have time for the surprise he felt as the crashes and yells drew their attention.   
  
"Go," Sam said, seeing Steve's struggle. "I'll take care of Sharon, you go after the bastard."   
  
Steve hesitated.   
  
"I was pararescue, remember. I've got this," Sam urged.   
  
Steve bent low and laid a gentle kiss on Sharon's forehead. "I'll be back," he said with as much assurance as he could muster and took off after Bucky and Rumlow.  
  
"You're gonna be okay, Sharon," Sam said, kneeling next to his barely conscious friend and lifting the blanket to assess her wounds. The robe she wore was torn and soaked with blood, the floor streaked with it.   
  
He examined the bruising at her throat, the gashes on her arm and legs, the burns on her leg and foot — and bit back rage when he got to the narrow cuts on her stomach in the crude form of the Hydra seal.  
  
Focusing on his task, Sam tore the tattered remains of Sharon's sleeve and tied it around the cut on her arm, used the discarded belt to secure a towel around the wound on her thigh, and covered Sharon with the blanket again.   
  
Except for her leg, most of the damage wasn't life-threatening but, combined, she was going to need more medical assistance than he could provide.   
  


* * *

  
  
Steve followed the trail of broken steps, cracked walls, damaged furniture and broken windows to the front porch where Bucky and Rumlow were locked in battle.  
  
The Strike commander, someone Steve had trusted to watch his back for nearly two years, smiled through bloodied teeth at him even as Bucky's fists continued to deliver blow after blow.   
  
"Hey, Cap," Rumlow choked out when Bucky halted his assault and held him firm in his bionic grip. "No hard feelings about that elevator business, right?"  
  
"Are you going to tell me this wasn't personal either?" Steve bit out, referencing Rumlow's platitude when he and a dozen Strike members had ganged up on him at the Triskelion.   
  
"My business with Agent 13 was completely personal," Rumlow said with a laugh. "Think she enjoyed it as much as I did?"  
  
Since Bucky's bionic arm was busy holding Rumlow still, Steve took the opportunity to smash his fist into the Hydra operative's face.  
  
Rumlow spit blood out of his mouth, his teeth dark with it. "Guess that means it is personal. Good to know."  
  
Steve refrained from hitting him again, realizing Rumlow only enjoyed his unchecked anger.   
  
Instead, he forced his concern for Sharon and anger at Rumlow down and asked what he was doing there.  
  
"I had a score to settle with Blondie from way back. It was just my luck finding you, Pierce's attack dog and Wilson up here, too."  
  
"Who else knows you're here?"  
  
"Believe it or not, Cap, you're not really a priority right now. Hydra's got bigger fish than you to worry about. This was my own little side vendetta."  
  
"So no one will miss you," Bucky said menacingly.   
  
"It talks?" Rumlow asked, clearly surprised. "I guess without Pierce to hold your leash —"  
  
His taunt was cut off by Bucky's sudden punch sending his head snapping back. As Bucky pulled his arm back to hit him again, Rumlow took the opportunity to drop a small device from his pocket and its tell-tale beep-beep had Steve throwing Bucky clear so he could take the brunt of the coming blast.   
  
The flash-boom took out a section of the railing and had Steve disorientated for a moment as Bucky pursued Rumlow into the woods.   
  
Shaking his head to clear it, Steve got unsteadily to his feet and followed, wishing for his shield and wondering how it was that Rumlow had withstood Bucky's beating as well as Steve's punch, and was now, apparently, outpacing the both of them through the woods.  
  
Maybe Hydra did something to him to help him not only recover from his injuries but also make him a match for Captain America and the Winter Soldier. But that didn't seem likely. Bucky, for his enhanced speed and endurance, was not that much stronger or faster than Sam, save for the advantage his bionic arm gave him. If Hydra was capable of creating super soldiers like Steve, why wouldn't they have done so with Bucky or other agents he'd come up against?  
  
No, Rumlow wasn't faster than Steve. But he was craftier.   
  
Steve  pulled up short and realized there was no way Rumlow could have outrun him and must have doubled-back to the cabin. He ran back and made the clearing just in time to see that Rumlow must not have fooled Bucky — since he was currently pinned against Sharon's car and the Winter Soldier was pummeling him with a flurry of fury-fueled fists.   
  
"Bucky!" Steve shouted, seeing that the grin was finally gone from Rumlow's face and he seemed to finally be feeling the effects of Bucky's repeated beatings.   
  
"Bucky," Steve said again when he didn't respond. "He's had enough, Buck."  
  
"No he hasn't," Bucky hissed. "He hurt Sharon."  
  
"And he'll pay for that but you can't kill him."  
  
"Yes." Bucky smashed his fist into Rumlow's gut. "I can."  
  
"Bucky!" Steve grabbed the Winter Soldier's arm in mid-swing and had to avoid getting hit himself when Bucky struck out with blind rage. Rumlow slid to the ground in a motionless heap as his attention focused on Steve.  
  
Bucky yelled, an anguished howl that echoed through the trees and left an eerie silence in its wake.  
  
"He has to pay, Steve," Bucky nearly cried. "They all have to pay."  
  
Steve took the half-hearted punches as Bucky's rage burned itself out and held his friend as the fury turned to tears.  
  
"It's gonna be alright, Buck," Steve whispered. "I'm here."  
  
The wracking sobs subsided and Bucky pulled away, something almost like recognition in his eyes even as Sam came running out what was left of the cabin door.   
  
"Sharon?" Steve asked.  
  
Sam looked grim. "I've done what I can with what I've got but she's gonna need a hospital and soon."  
  
Bucky turned to pick up the unconscious Rumlow, only to discover that the snake had slithered away in their distraction.  
  
"We'll deal with him later," Steve said. "We have to help Sharon now."


	19. Chapter 19

With Bucky behind the wheel of the speeding SUV, Steve held Sharon in his lap while Sam continued applying pressure to the gash in her leg.  
  
Sam had dealt with worse injuries in his time in pararescue but he'd had better supplies than the towels he'd commandeered from the bathroom — all of which were soaked through with Sharon's blood.  
  
By the time they reached the hospital two towns away her pulse was thready at best and she'd been unconscious a lot longer than Sam felt comfortable with. He relayed that information to the orderlies who met them at the door, repeated it for the nurses and doctor who rushed to greet the gurney.   
  
The three soldiers wanted to follow but were told they'd done what they could and it was time to let the hospital staff do their job.   
  
And they did. They cut the rest of the blood-soaked and tattered robe from Sharon's body, assessed and tended the superficial cuts on her stomach, treated and stitched the wounds on her arm and leg, x-rayed her bruised and battered neck.  
  
By the time the doctor came out, Sharon was awake but far from out of the woods.   
  
"Your friend lost a lot of blood and we can't match her type with the supply we have without risk of making things worse."  
  
"What type do you need?" Sam asked.   
  
"We're a small operation, I'm afraid, and low on supplies," the doctor said with regret. "We don't have any O-negative or the B-positive she would need."  
  
"What about a donor?" Steve asked.  
  
"If we had one," the doctor said.  
  
Steve pushed up his sleeve. "You do."  
  


* * *

  
  
It wasn't easy convincing Sam or the doctor to take his blood for Sharon but Steve finally did — and then sat in the lobby for hours waiting to see if it worked.  
  
Bucky sat with him, both of them silent but with the same thought; neither one could picture his world without Sharon in it.  
  
"I brought dinner," Sam announced, drawing both Steve and Bucky out of their reverie. He handed them each a cup of hot coffee and pulled two vending machine pastries out of his pockets — and Bucky eagerly took both when Steve didn't want his.  
  
"Thanks, Sam," Steve said tiredly. "Were you able to get ahold of anyone?"  
  
Sam had gone through Sharon's phone, trying to reach her parents to let them know what was going on.   
  
"I finally tracked down Sharon's mom. She's in Malibu with Peggy but relayed the message to Sharon's dad. He's on his way."  
  
"Why's Peggy in Malibu?"  
  
Sam shrugged. "I didn't get the whole story but something about helping Tony Stark with something he'd found in the wreckage of his old mansion."  
  
"If he wanted Peggy, it was probably something of Howard's," Steve said, taking a quiet sip of his coffee. "I guess if it concerns us, we'll find out about it eventually."  
  
"Why don't you try to get some sleep, Steve? They did offer you a bed after you gave up a gallon of blood."  
  
"I'm fine, Sam. Super-blood, remember? That's why no one wanted to take it."  
  
"It's not that we didn't want to take it, Steve, but there's no telling how it will affect someone who isn't you."  
  
"We had to do something, Sam. Sharon couldn't wait for the delivery from the nearest hospital."  
  
"I know, man. I know," Sam assured. "Last time I got an update she..."  
  
Sam trailed at the approach of a doctor-looking gentleman they hadn't seen yet.  
  
"Captain Rogers?" he asked. "I'm Henry Carter, Sharon's father."  
  
Steve looked more closely at the man, recognizing Peggy's nephew from the pictures in her office. He stood and took the outstretched hand. "You made good time."  
  
"I was just leaving Pittsburgh when I got the message," Henry Carter said. "How is Sharon?"  
  
Sam told him what they knew, which wasn't much at that point. "She seems to be responding well to the four pints of super blood but it's still early."   
  
"I see," Henry said, taking it all in and looking at a troubled Steve.   
  
"I'm so sorry, Dr. Carter," Steve said.  
  
"For what?" Henry asked.   
  
"I should have kept her safe."  
  
"You have no reason to apologize, Captain," Henry said, taking a seat and gesturing for Steve to follow suit. "Sharon wasn't the only one who grew up hearing stories about you and your heroics. I know if you could have done anything to prevent what happened to my little girl, you would have. I also know this wasn't the first time that man has hurt my daughter so who's to say if she hadn't been at the cabin with you that he wouldn't have found her alone in her apartment back in D.C.?"  
  
"You knew about Rumlow?"  
  
"My aunt is a former director of SHIELD and my daughter was an agent. I know how dangerous their world is and I know Sharon can take care of herself but that didn't stop me from worrying. I had my own connections within the agency and made inquiries when I knew something was bothering Sharon."  
  
"I doubt she's gonna like knowing about that," Steve pointed out.  
  
"No more than you liked finding out she wasn't just your neighbor," Henry said, ignoring Steve's look at his knowledge. "We often do things for the ones we care about that they don't always like."  
  
Steve couldn't deny that, looking down at his hands. Thinking about it, how he felt about Sharon, he wouldn't mind locking her in a tower away from all the dangers of the world. But, because he cared for her, he knew he couldn't do that.   
  
"Steve's in love with your daughter," Bucky said, speaking up for the first time since Sam handed him pastries.   
  
"What?" Steve and Henry both asked at the same time.  
  
"He kisses her all of the time," Bucky elaborated. "She seems to like it so I don't let it bother me."  
  
Steve swallowed uncomfortably, ignoring the bemused expression on Sam's face.  
  
"I'm not surprised, Captain. Sharon's had a crush on you since she was a little girl. And I know from my aunt that you're a stand-up guy who's been through a lot so I won't put you in the hot seat. Today."


	20. Chapter 20

When Sharon was awake, and after her father and Bucky had been in to see her, Steve stuck his head into her room.   
  
"You up for one more visitor?"  
  
Sharon looked over and gave a tired smile. "As long as it's you."  
  
He stepped in, a bouquet of bright yellow and pink flowers in his hands.  
  
"How are you feeling?" he asked, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before setting the flowers down on the table and taking the seat next to the bed. She was propped on her side toward him by a series of pillows, most likely to keep the pressure off her arm and leg wounds.  
  
"Better than I should be, thanks to you."   
  
Her smile brightened but he only looked down at his hands and then back up at her with sad eyes. He looked tired, she thought. Worn down. She wouldn't go so far as to say he as showing his age but...  
  
"Steve, what's wrong?"  
  
He looked at her with surprise, then gestured to the bed she was laying in. "This is what's wrong. You're hurt and it's my fault."  
  
It was her turn to look surprised. "From where I'm laying, it most certainly is not your fault. In fact, you're the only reason I'm even still breathing right now."  
  
"He hurt you," Steve said quietly. "While I was outside, playing in the snow, you were fighting for your life."  
  
"You're not seriously blaming yourself for what happened, are you?" She lifted her head up to meet his eye level. "Steve, Rumlow tried to kill me — maybe worse — and you stopped him." She reached her hand out, touched his cheek so he'd look at her. "I told you, Rumlow's been after me almost as long as I've been a SHIELD agent. The only reason he was at the cabin was because he was looking for me. I'm just lucky he was hopped up enough on whatever Hyrdra gave him that he thought it was a good idea to go after me with you outside."  
  
"How can you consider yourself lucky?" Steve asked.   
  
"Because he was determined enough to follow me all the way up here and that means he could have just as easily found me in DC or at Peggy's or anywhere else when I'd been by myself and I wouldn't have had my super soldier boyfriend there to stop him."  
  
She tried to push herself over, winced, then allowed him to help her into a sitting position.  
  
"Look, Steve, you can be upset that this happened to me — I'm upset, too — but I won't let you take the blame for it. When good people beat themselves up over the bad things people do, it lets those people off the hook. Any blame you take for yourself is taking it away from the man who did this to me."  
  
"I let him get away," he said, his shoulders sagging under the guilt he felt.  
  
"Because you had to get me to the hospital," she countered. "Seriously, Steve, stop trying to take the blame." She took his hand, squeezed it, and smiled. "You're gonna ruin my super blood high."  
  
He smiled, or tried, and Sharon gave him points for the effort. "I'm glad it's working for you."  
  
"Oh, it's more than working. I feel like I could wrestle Big Foot, or maybe just Bucky." She winced when her own enthusiasm had the bandages on her abdomen pulling. She rested her hand over the series of cuts, trying to sooth them. "Okay, not quite, but I do feel a lot better than a woman who lost that much blood should be feeling."  
  
The dark cloud passed over Steve's face again. "Sam told me about the marks Rumlow left. I'm sor —"  
  
"I swear, Rogers, if you say you're sorry again, I'm gonna throw something at you and then you'll feel responsible for the torn stitches in my arm."  
  
"I'm..." he stopped, saw the look on her face. "What can I do to make you feel better?"  
  
"Hmmm," she said, making an exaggerated show of thinking. "The super blood's great and all, but I could use some super smooches to help speed my recovery."  
  
Steve smiled, a real one that nearly reached his eyes. "I don't know if your doctors — or your father — would approve of that but I've got an idea."  
  
She raised her eyebrow at him as he walked around the bed. "Lay back down," he instructed as he helped her gently roll to her side and crawled onto the bed behind her.   
  
"How's this?" he asked, letting her lean against him.   
  
"It's nice," she said. "It's no super smooches but super cuddles are nice."  
  
He stroked his hand over her hair, traced the outside of her ear. "Why don't you try to get some rest?"  
  
"Only if you'll to be here when I wake up."  
  
"I will."  
  
"And you'll stay right there?" she asked, laying her head back on the pillow.  
  
"I will. Promise."  
  
Sharon closed her eyes, smiling sleepily. "I know you will.You always keep your promises." She sighed softly. "It's one of the things I love about you."  
  
At her words, Steve's hand stilled in her hair and he looked to see that she was already fast asleep. It wasn't the first time she'd so casually used the "L"-word but, for some reason, it was the first time he felt his heart skip a beat when she did.  
  


* * *

  
  
When Sam pushed the door to Sharon's room open a couple hours later to tell Steve that visiting hours were over, he found the two of them fast asleep on the hospital bed.   
  
Quietly, he pulled the door closed again and walked back out to the lobby.   
  
"Did you tell Steve we're leaving?" Bucky asked.   
  
"I think Steve's gonna stay here overnight," Sam answered, sharing a meaningful look with Sharon's father. "He's asleep in Sharon's room."  
  
Henry only nodded, glad Steve was finally getting the rest he needed and rightfully deserved. "I'll let the hospital staff know not to disturb them."  
  
"Are you coming back to the cabin with us?" Bucky asked Henry as he walked toward the nurses' station.  
  
"I suppose I can," he said thoughtfully. "I was going to get a room here in town but with Steve staying here, I think Sharon will be fine."  
  
"It is your cabin, so you're obviously welcome." Sam said. "But you're probably gonna want your deposit back when you see what a mess it is."  
  
"Bucky already apologized for breaking my house," Henry said. "He seems to feel personally responsible for anything he broke while fighting Rumlow."  
  
"I should have thrown him back out the window we came in," Bucky said with regret. "I shouldn't have fought him in the house."  
  
"We'll take care of any repairs," Sam told Henry.  
  
"That's not necessary but I appreciate the offer." Henry looked thoughtful. "That would keep us occupied while we wait for Sharon to recover. And I could do with a little physical activity."


	21. Chapter 21

Steve stayed with Sharon until her release two days later. By the time Henry picked the two of them up, he, Sam and Bucky had busily repaired the bulk of the damage done during Rumlow's visit. When Henry pulled the car up in front of the cabin, Bucky was sanding the section of railing he and Sam had just replaced in front of the brand-new window.   
  
"We'll need to wait until spring to paint," Henry said, indicating the porch. "But we've taken care of nearly everything else."  
  
"I can't believe you accomplished so much in only two days," Sharon said, straining against her seatbelt to get a look at the repairs.   
  
"Sam and Bucky do good work," Henry commented. "I'm thinking of having them take care of the new deck your mother wants."  
  
Sharon shook her head at her father, pushing her door open when the car came to a halt — only to have Steve jump out of the backseat and appear next to her.  
  
"You're still under strict orders to rest," he chided, taking the door and lifting her out.  
  
"I don't need any more rest. Thanks to your super blood, I'm practically healed."  
  
"Not quite, Sharon," her father reminded her. "You're recovery's been accelerated but you've still got a ways to go. You still have two sets of stitches that need to come out."  
  
"Your father's right, Sharon," Steve agreed. "You're going to continue resting while we finish the last of the repairs and then it's time we all returned to DC."  
  
Sharon nodded, having already had this conversation with Steve. The ordeal with Rumlow had made it clear that Hydra and their agents were still a threat and Captain America couldn't afford to be off the grid any longer. Bucky, while not quite his old self, was closer to the Bucky Barnes of old than he was the Winter Soldier and he was ready to start making amends for the seven decades of wrong he'd done under Hydra.   
  
That meant they had to return to civilization, or as close to civilized as DC got, anyway.   
  
Sharon had spent a good deal of time in her hospital bed, when Steve thought she was asleep, thinking about how they could handle Hydra without the resources of SHIELD behind them. She'd put some ideas together already, a vision forming in her head that she wasn't quite prepared to share with the boys yet.   
  
She was sure it would work, just as she was sure Sam would go wherever Steve went so that meant he'd also be joining their little band of do-gooders. Sharon had worked him into her plans as well.   
  
"I'll be good," she promised, laying her head against Steve's broad chest.   
  
"How you feeling, Sharon?" Sam asked as Steve carried her into the cabin.  
  
"Good, Sam. Real good," she said over Steve's shoulder. "I could even walk if I wanted but I just like having Steve carry me around."  
  
"I thought you were going to be good," Steve chided at her sarcasm.   
  
"I am being good," she pouted.  
  
"Uh-huh." Steve carried her down the hall, toward the den. "I made up the couch in here for you. I didn't think you'd want to be in your room..."  
  
"Not really," she confirmed. "It's not like I spent much time sleeping in there anyway."  
  
Steve set her as gently as he could on the couch, angling her so the wound on her leg was cushioned by the extra pillows he'd arranged.   
  
"Try to sleep, okay?" he asked. "I don't know how comfortable you'll be in the car and you really do need to rest."  
  
"I will," she said, angling her face up for a kiss, to which he obliged, before joining the other men upstairs.  
  


* * *

  
  
As much as Sharon protested her need to rest, she slept through the drilling, sawing, hammering and other construction activities and only woke when Steve told her it was time to leave.  
  
"So soon?" she asked, rubbing sleep from her eye.  
  
"It's been four hours," Steve said, helping her sit up. "I guess this means you got some sleep."  
  
She nodded. "I guess I was more tired than I thought."  
  
"Does this mean you'll listen to me and your father when we tell you to rest?"  
  
"Probably not," she admitted, trying to push herself up and batting his hands away when he helped her stand.   
  
"I really can manage on my own, Steve," she said, hiding a wince as she turned and bent forward to fold the blankets on the couch. "I won't get any stronger if you and my dad continue to coddle me."  
  
"I'm sor —"  
  
"What did I say about 'sorry'?" she asked, turning back around.   
  
"Not to be," he said. "And you're right. I'm not sorry that I worry about you; that I want to help you."   
  
Her features softened as she set the folded blanket back down on top of the pillows he'd stacked. "When you put it that way..." She held her arms up so he could scoop her into his.   
  
"I'm not going to let you do this forever, you know," she said as she settled into his strong embrace once more.   
  
He smiled. "I appreciate you letting me do it now."   
  
"Whatever makes you happy."  
  
He pressed a kiss to her lips. "You do."  
  
"I do what?" she asked.   
  
"You make me happy."   
  
Any resentment she felt over being babied melted at the sincerity in his eyes.   
  
"You make me happy, too, Steve," she said, and pressed her lips together to stop them from saying anything he wasn't ready to hear yet. "C'mon, the boys are waiting. It's time we all got back to work."  
  
With a one more kiss, Steve carried Sharon out of the cabin where Henry waited to lock it up behind them.   
  
Placing Sharon in the passenger seat of the SUV, he nodded at Bucky and Sam, crammed into Sharon's little blue car, as he walked around to the driver's side.  
  
As their caravan pulled away from the cabin, Sharon couldn't help the melancholy she suddenly felt for leaving their little nest. It had certainly been one of the more unusual months of her life, helping Bucky, bonding with Sam and falling in love with Steve, but it had certainly been one of the best.   
  
There was no telling what the future held, for any of them, but she had a feeling they were all stronger for the bond they'd forged.  
  
"It's time we all got back to work," she whispered, taking Steve's hand as he pulled onto the main road. "And to whatever the future holds."


End file.
